Archive of Our Own ^beta

Fate is an odd thing. To think, every single decision we make in this life is intertwined with another—like some twisted game of dominos. By the time we try to unravel its threads, a new one has already been tied. 

The universe is another thing entirely. Chaos and Gaia, the Big Bang, God—however you choose to believe it came to be—the point is, in a universe filled with nebulae, shooting stars, singularities, and planets, we’ve been damned to a floating blue rock. 

It begs the question—are fate and the universe separate beings? The two must move in tandem in order for life to continue its trek, must they not? After all, it makes sense that two of the strongest forces work alongside one another. 

Or perhaps, one is more vengeful than the other? Fate is rather a hopeless romantic and the universe is… well, the universe. A perfect balance, really. 

In a way, fate is simply a collateral of the universe—a symptom (some would say a disease). Something put in place to make things fair just—whatever that means. 

Again, a balance.

Now, this story isn’t meant to frighten anyone or attempt to change their view on the universe. Those opinions are personal, and quite frankly, useless for this story. 

This tale begins during the early years of the Mid-Autumn Festival, wherein lived two lovers of different origins—bound by fate, separated by the universe. 

But despite the vexation of the universe and fate’s mercy, the two are equally spiteful. And who deserves to be punished the most, if not two lovers? Or more so, if these lovers are amongst the immortal? 

But, we are getting ahead of ourselves, as this story isn’t a debate between the mercy of the universe and fate, but rather a story of two lovers who have felt and overcome the wrath of both. 

○

The Rabbit of the Moon lives a happy life. With his days consisting of churning the elixir of eternal life for the Moon God, he remains ignorant of the lives of others. Perhaps, these moments are of bliss to the Rabbit, but there’s a part of him that remains curious.

Time is an odd thing on the Moon. What should feel like centuries to the average human has felt like days to the Rabbit of the Moon. He has only recalled the state of being, not living. Perhaps, this is a tragedy to some, but to others, it shows how blissful ignorance can protect even the gods.

He takes a short break from the mortar and pestle in front of him to stare out into the vast space. The orb shines brightly in the darkness, and he can’t help but feel intrigued by the other planet. The Rabbit has heard many things about the blue orb, yet none of the experiences are of his own.

“The humans call it Earth,” the Moon God had once told him.

“Humans? Are they like us?”

“Not quite, Jeongguk-ah. There may be a few gods amongst men, however. If you’re lucky enough, you’ll be able to meet them yourself one day.”

“One day? I’ll be able to go down there?”

“One day.”

The Moon God doesn’t speak very often. If he chooses to do so, his words are calculated—as if he had been reading Jeongguk’s mind, hearing his thoughts aloud in his own head. The Rabbit believes it’s a trait the gods have.

Jeongguk would not consider himself a god, he simply works for one. Truthfully, he could never see himself filling the shoes of one, it’s a feat much too pressuring. He enjoys his current role, it’s simple and he isn’t entirely lonely as the Moon God had supplied him with his own workers—rabbit spirits who seem to be more mischievous than helpful. 

The Moon God is beautiful, Jeongguk would like to say. He’s nothing short of ethereal—meant to be worshipped and admired. The god wears a somber expression, for the most part, his smile is scarce, yet it’s never unwelcoming. Draped in blue robes, the Moon God is one to take pride in his appearance. He’s coy, yet earnest. There’s a great sadness that lies behind the Moon God’s eyes, but Jeongguk chooses to ignore it. The god has never been one to divulge his personal life. 

A spirit tugs at his robe with its teeth, as if to ask what he’s looking at. Jeongguk nudges the spirit away, yet it hardly listens, hopping on his shoulder instead. It nips on his ear in annoyance, to which Jeongguk rolls his eyes. Sighing in defeat, they look out at the blue sphere in silence.

It’s the vast stretches of blue which enrapture Jeongguk’s attention. The Moon God had called them oceans, ruled by another god. He had sounded embittered in his speech, something quite rare for the deity. Jeongguk had asked him why, and his words still ring clear in his mind.

“The gods take the characteristics of what they watch over. You and I are calm and somber as the moon, watching over this lonely entity with each passing day. The ocean is unruly and cruel, as such, so is its deity. Concern yourself with him and you may just drown, Jeongguk.”

The warning he had received from the Moon God was minimal, perhaps this was because the Moon God had known that nothing he said could sway the Rabbit’s judgement. From the moment the Rabbit laid eyes on the vast expanse of blue, he knew he wanted to meet the one who ruled over its waters. Jeongguk’s curiosity was beyond the Moon God’s powers. 

And well, some lessons are better taught through experience.

Jeongguk stretches out his arms, cracking his knuckles one by one before continuing his pounding. The rabbit spirit remains on his shoulder, clearly in its own world as it nibbles on the strands of Jeongguk’s hair.

He looks at the Earth. How could something so beautiful cause so much wreckage?

Jeongguk’s curiosity grows. As he stands pounding the elixir in front of him, he can’t help but imagine what life on Earth must be like. He especially thinks of the ocean and the beauty of its tides—he thinks of the ocean deity and what he must be like. Surely, he must be just as breathtaking as the waters he watches over.

There are a few spirits perched around him, gathering ingredients and handing them off to toss into the mortar. They hop around, chittering in excitement as Jeongguk churns the elixir. One is perched atop his head, watching intently as the others work around him.

The Moon God is nowhere in sight today. But this isn’t what piques Jeongguk’s interest, for the deity’s presence has always been scarce. As a matter of fact, nothing on the moon is out of the ordinary. It’s as quiet as it always is, the only sounds coming from the pounding of the mortar and the chittering rabbit spirits.

Jeongguk doesn’t know why he feels especially drawn to the blue sphere, but it’s almost as if something is calling for him in the distance—a gentle pull, a faint whisper.

“I see it’s time then,” a voice snaps him of his thoughts. Jeongguk looks at the Moon God in wonder, bowing his head in respect. He seemed to have forgotten about the spirit, only hearing the nervous squeak and its resounding thump as it falls to the ground.

"Time for what?” Jeongguk asks, voice wavering as the rabbit spirit nips at his ankles in what Jeongguk assumes is an unbridled rage.

The Moon God flashes him a smile. "For you to visit Earth, of course.”

○

The Moon God had called it the Mid-Autumn Festival. 

“It’s a time of celebration for humans. A time to spend with their families and bond with one another.” He explains. “There will be a festival in the streets, you will see children frolicking and lights adorning the homes.” 

“And what must I do on Earth?” Jeongguk tilts his head, eyes widened in awe. 

The Moon God smiles. “Back when I was a mere human, I’d stroll through the streets with rice cakes in hand. It was a time I felt truly alive. You may do as you please. If you wish to spread our stories to the children on Earth, I don’t think it would do them any harm. Humans have a tendency to get so caught up in their small corners of the universe, they forget just how big an expanse it is.”

The deity looks lost in thought. Once a human himself, recalling his past memories on Earth was something rather painful for him. Jeongguk doesn’t know much about the god’s past, making it clear that some things are meant to be kept there. 

Jeongguk responds with a hum. “I can tell them about us?” 

The deity hums. “Indeed, but I don’t think they will believe you. The humans… are rather close-minded. Instead, let us be a story to them.”

His expression falls. 

“Don’t let that discourage you. As blind as humans are, they are desperate for something… more. So, they achieve this through stories—fairy tales, fables, myths, they turn them into lessons for children and adults to learn from. It reminds me just how innocent they are in this realm. So Jeongguk, turn us into a story. Act as a beacon of hope for them.” The Moon God’s eyes are warm as he speaks, most likely reminiscing on his own memories from Earth. 

Jeongguk has always felt quite envious of the Moon God’s experiences of Earth. He sometimes wonders if that is where the deity achieved his wisdom from. Fleetingly, he hopes that one day he’ll harness the same wisdom the Moon God does. 

“And you’re sure I am allowed to go? What about...” he trails off, eyes landing on the mortar in front of them. 

“It is nothing your spirits can’t handle,” the Moon God dismisses, causing an affronted squeak from the spirits. Jeongguk laughs; the ghostly rabbits never enjoyed taking over his work. They much prefer gathering ingredients and watching him churn at the elixirs. However, there is little they can say to the Moon God. 

He couldn’t possibly leave the moon, could he? What is there for Jeongguk to do on the blue planet? He thinks of the ocean, of its quiet yet fierce beauty—Jeongguk wonders if he will be the only deity amongst the humans. 

Perhaps, he’ll meet the deity of the ocean. 

“Are you coming with me?” the Rabbit asks. Surely, the Moon God won’t allow him to go by himself. Jeongguk doesn’t know what he would do amongst humans, the only soul he has ever spoken to is an eternal one. He has no perception of mortality. 

The god shakes his head. “My time amongst the mortals is long over. I will be there with you in spirit.” His tone is warm as if he truly regrets not joining the Rabbit. The deity turns his back to walk away, leaving the Rabbit alone to his vices.  

Just as quickly, the deity stops, turning his head to speak once more. “Oh, and Jeongguk?”

Jeongguk faces him once more.

The god’s voice drops into something serious, laced with warning. His expression remains somber, which makes the message just as intimidating. “Just because you are visiting the Earth, does not mean you are free from your obligations. Your sole purpose is to protect the elixir, Rabbit of the Moon. Should you fail, and you will feel not only the wrath of me, a mere god but the universe. Don’t be fooled, humans are just as selfish as they are curious—should they find out the powers of that elixir, chaos will ensue. Do you understand?” 

He gulps, nodding solemnly. Jeongguk shouldn’t be so foolish as to let his curiosity cloud his role as an immortal. He will go to Earth to spread their stories, to let the humans know of the Moon God and the Rabbit of the Moon. That is all. 

The deity nods, turning once again to leave. Once again, Jeongguk is left alone in front of the mortar. 

With the Moon God’s blessing, Jeongguk decides it would be wise to not waste any more time. For he doesn’t know how time has passed on Earth, or how much longer until the mid-autumn festival is over. He yearns to see the blinding lights of the festival along with the frolicking children in the streets—to gather them around and tell them the story of the Rabbit and the Moon God. 

Jeongguk doesn’t know when he’ll have a chance like this again, it would be a waste not to take it. 

That night, he counts his blessings along with the stars in space. 

○

“The Rabbit of the Moon was a mischievous spirit. Working under the wing of the Moon God, the Rabbit of the Moon pounded the elixirs of—” 

“Immortality,” a young girl speaks up, waving a chubby hand in the air in excitement. Jeongguk smiles, nodding. 

“The elixirs of immortality,” he finishes. The children around him let out a wondrous ooh and ahh as Jeongguk tells the tale. “The Rabbit of the Moon worked hard to watch over the elixirs, as he remained the sole protector. Should the elixirs get in the hands of evil—” 

“Then they shall feel the wrath of the Moon God and the universe,” another child roars—this time, a young boy with missing canine teeth, his smile akin to a rabbit. 

Jeongguk nodded, fastening the rabbit mask higher on his face. When visiting Earth, he preferred keeping his identity concealed—not only did it help keep him safe, but it added an extra effect to his storytellings. It also wasn’t seen as out of the ordinary, seeing as the mask had been sold in most general goods shops. 

He doesn’t know how many times he has visited Earth now, a number easily in the hundreds by now. Ever since the Moon God had granted him permission to visit Earth, Jeongguk never missed a single mid-autumn festival, or as the humans here call it, Chuseok. 

He’s currently sitting in a circle with a handful of other children in the middle of an open field, just off of the main road. In the distance, he can hear shopkeepers advertising their products and children running through the streets. 

“What happens next? Has anyone ever stole the elixir of im—of emer—of immor—”

“Of immortality, Nayeon,” her friend corrects her. 

“Of immortallality.” 

Jeongguk laughs, endeared at the error. “Fortunately, no one has attempted such a crime. Should they try, we all know what will happen, won’t we?” 

“It’s just a story anyway, it’s not like any of this is real,” a fifth child speaks up. She seems much older than the others, so Jeongguk isn’t surprised at her skepticism.

“Anything is a story, child. It simply depends on how open you are to listen.” 

“So, does the Moon God really exist? And what about the Rabbit of the Moon?” Nayeon speaks up. 

Jeongguk leans back, looking up at the full moon with a soft smile. “Perhaps, I think it’s all a matter of perspective. Who knows, maybe they’re amongst us right now.”

The children let out a squeal, turning their heads towards the main streets as if they’ll magically spot the two deities. 

“That’s a lie! There’s no such thing as a Moon Rabbit or Moon God. No one can live up there!” the older girl speaks up again. 

“No human can, indeed,” he corrects her. “This is all but a story, children. It’s up to you whether you believe it or not.”

The older girl looks away from Jeongguk, cheeks reddening. Before she can say another word, she’s interrupted. “Can you tell us another story, please?” Nayeon asks with wide eyes. 

“Maybe tomorrow night. I think I’ve told you enough stories for tonight.” Jeongguk rises from the ground, dusting himself off before stretching. 

They groan in unison, clearly frustrated with Jeongguk’s decision. “That’s enough of that, maybe tomorrow I’ll tell you a story of how the Rabbit of the Moon met the Moon God. Does that sound alright?” 

The children nod, suddenly no longer saddened by the shortened storytelling session. Jeongguk swears he even sees the older girl smiling at the news, but he decides not to question it. He watches as the children slowly file out, scattering back onto the street and disappearing into the crowd. Some quickly find their parents, and the older ones make their own way home. 

Just as Jeongguk thinks all the children have left, he feels a tug at his hanbok. “Oh, it’s Nayeon, right?” 

The little girl nods. “Can I ask you a question?” 

“Of course you can.” 

“Why must the Rabbit care for the elixir? Why is it so important to the Moon God?” She asks sheepishly, shuffling her shoes in the sand. 

Jeongguk hums. “Well, the elixir is one of the strongest powers in the world. It lets humans become immortal, and grants an immortal more time—two things that the universe should never allow.” 

Nayeon's mouth is left agape in awe. “So, if the Rabbit loses it, then what happens?”

Jeongguk lowers himself to one knee, meeting the child’s eyes. “I hope we never find out. But, whatever it is, the universe is not as forgiving as we hope it to be. But, don’t fret, for the Rabbit is very good at his job, he always makes sure to keep the vial with him to ensure it never falls in the wrong hands.” 

The vial sits heavy in Jeongguk’s pockets at all times. The only being meant to consume it is the Moon God for his immortality lies in conditions. Jeongguk doesn’t know the full history of the Moon God, much too afraid to ask. All he knows is that the moon did not always have one to look over it and that the god was once human. The universe had shifted when it bestowed the role onto him—the spirits have told Jeongguk that the occasion caused stars to align and singularities to shift. 

It’s a wondrous story, but Jeongguk has heard whispers that it is just as tragic. 

Truthfully, there are days where Jeongguk wishes to rid himself of the burden of guarding the elixir, but he knows his duty and yet feels honoured by the task. If not him, then who? He’s guarded the elixir for lifetimes and will guard it for lifetimes more. He is meant to risk his life for the elixir, protecting it with every ounce of power he has been granted. 

It had not always been like this. What many do not know is that Jeongguk had been on the moon long before the Moon God—had invited him with welcoming arms and comforted the deity as he mourned his humanity. It was a trying time, one Jeongguk does not know all the details to.  

Before the Moon God, Jeongguk had been a mere rabbit spirit roaming the moon. He wasn’t granted a corporeal state until the Moon God had stumbled upon their home. It was sudden, and even now does he fail to understand why it was him that was chosen for such a dire task.  

He’s brought back to reality with a high-pitched gasp. He looks down at the girl, smiling softly. She nods solemnly as if she had just been told the secrets of the world. “Wait! I have one more question.” 

“Yes?” He laughs, standing up to dust himself off. 

“Have you met the Moon God or the Rabbit?” Her eyes are wide as she speaks and when she stands, it’s on the tips of her toes. The young girl is filled with unbridled excitement, genuinely curious and enraptured by Jeongguk’s story. 

He looks down at her, realizing that while he looks down at a face of pure curiosity and wonder, she can only see the monotonous expression of the rabbit mask. Without much thought, Jeongguk unties the mask. 

Her mouth parts in surprise, completely taken aback at the revelation. For the past few days, the children had been coming to him in hopes to hear more of his stories. He’s been doing this for the past few years within their lifetime, so he’s grown to recognize a few of them. Nayeon was just one of the many he knows by heart. Jeongguk has kept his identity hidden from them every time, so her surprise is not unwarranted. 

Jeongguk looks from side to side as if to tell a secret. “Don’t tell any of the other children, but I have met them and they told me to tell their stories to children like you so their memories are never forgotten.” 

Nayeon gasps, covering her mouth in what seems to be shock. She lets out a giggle before quickly lowering her tone. “Your secret is safe with me, ahjussi.”

“I’m not that old.” Well, to what concerns humans, he isn’t. “But, thank you for keeping my secret. All the Moon Rabbit and the Moon God want is for you to remember them, can you do that, Nayeon?”

She nods excitedly, hands covering her mouth. 

Jeongguk smiles under the mask. “I’ll let them know. Now, hurry back to your parents before you get in trouble.” 

She turns then, scurrying over to a kind-eyed woman Jeongguk assumes is her mother. Just before embracing the woman, Nayeon turns around. “Tell the Rabbit and Moon God I said hello!” she calls out one last time, her shrill voice booming across the field. 

“I’ll make sure of it,” he calls out in reply. 

Once he is finally alone, Jeongguk continues his stroll. This time, he decides to stay away from the bustling streets and moves further down the field. In the distance, he sees the ocean, feeling drawn to it. 

Something tells him to turn back, to return to the townsfolk and enjoy the songpyeon given out by the sweet vendor at its entryway. Yet, his gut tells him to keep going, to walk closer to the beckoning tides. 

Looking up at the full moon, Jeongguk smiles softly—perhaps a greeting (or apology) of sorts, another way to say “I’ll be home soon,” to his friend. 

○

As Jeongguk approaches the calm tides of the water, he notices the shore has another visitor. Quickly, he fastens the mask on his face and watches from behind a few bushes—thankfully, the area is quite forested, so Jeongguk opts to hide until he can make out the silhouette of the other. 

Out of fear, Jeongguk decides to take on his rabbit form—a white jackrabbit with red eyes. He rarely takes on his form, only using it when he is in danger, or wanting to eavesdrop on a conversation—but the latter is rare, and Jeongguk swears he isn’t usually nosey. 

The water is breathtaking tonight, he watches from the bushes as the water slowly makes its way onto the shore. Almost like a friend reaching out. However, his thoughts are fleeting as he takes in the stranger on the shore. 

His hair is much longer than Jeongguk’s—where his own lands around his ears, this man’s is almost at his waist. He has half of his hair tied back into a bun, with the rest of it flowing down his back. 

The man is wearing a light blue hanbok. He sits comfortably upon the shore with his arms stretched behind him, palms digging into the sand with his gaze focused on the moon. He looks as if he is in utter bliss. 

There is something quite alluring about the man’s aura—Jeongguk can’t help but want to come closer to him. Instead, he stands his ground and remains in the bushes, for it’s clear this man is more than simply human—he has to be, for Rabbit of the Moon has never met a human so enthralling. 

Jeongguk holds his breath as he watches, afraid of being seen despite his animal form. Even if he was caught, the human wouldn’t think of him to be anything less than just a part of the wildlife.

Right as Jeongguk believes he’s safe, the stranger turns his head towards the shrubbery with an unreadable expression. The rabbit startles, ears flattening to his head as he retreats back into the bushes. His heart thumps in his chest and for a moment, Jeongguk wonders if it’s too late to run.

“You know,” the stranger drawls. Jeongguk shrinks in on himself, throwing himself deeper into the bushes. For a moment, he wonders if burrowing a hole would be efficient. “I think the view would be much prettier from out here.”

Jeongguk holds his breath, staying still in hopes that he isn’t the one the stranger is addressing. Which, in theory, is a foolish thought being as they’re the only two on the beach. The others are busy celebrating in the town or tucked away in the comfort of their homes. Jeongguk looks up at the full moon, suddenly homesick.

“You need not be afraid, moon rabbit,” the stranger continues, this time facing the water. His voice is warm and honeyed in tone. For a moment, Jeongguk thinks he could drown in it should he let himself. 

Jeongguk freezes, realizing that the stranger knows who he is. He hops out from the bushes in apprehension, side-eyeing the stranger. The only way this man could know his identity is if he’s an immortal like himself. 

The stranger tears his gaze from the tides to meet the rabbit’s gaze. “I assume it’s you my waters have been reaching for?” 

His waters? No, surely, this couldn’t be who Jeongguk thinks. He’s visited the Earth countless times and has experienced many things—the innocence and faults of humans, the flickering of light in a child’s eyes when they hear his stories, the way in which they show love by throwing their arms around a lover. Jeongguk has seen the wonders of Earth, but never another God. 

The Moon God had told him it was plausible—that there were others like him roaming the Earth, and that running into one of them was to be expected. However, he was also warned of their deceit, and that Jeongguk should never tread closely to another. 

Especially the one who looks over the oceans. 

“Concern yourself with him, and you may just drown, Jeongguk-ah.” The Moon God’s words ring in his head. He had been scolded centuries ago, before his first visit to the Earth, yet his words still sound as clear as day. His words were clear with an underlying threat to them. Jeongguk never had the courage to ask why the Moon God had felt so strongly. 

Jeongguk may be an immortal, but he admits he is just as naive as a human. He only comes down to Earth within a short period every year, and no matter how much he visits, there are always new things that surprise him. 

“Are you going to hide from me forever? I’ll admit, I’m starting to feel quite silly talking to myself,” he hums into the cool night. 

Startling, Jeongguk pads his way over to the man, for there’s no reason in remaining hidden anymore. His ear twitches, watching the man closely. Usually, he would remain in his animal form as a precaution but he understands that if he wants answers from him, he sort of needs his speech capabilities. So, as he slowly treads over to the stranger, he takes the form of his human body. Cringing at the feeling of his robes and mask, he shakes himself off once he sits himself down next to the stranger. 

“Who are you?” Are the first words he utters, finally seeing the man’s face up close. 

He’s beautiful, Jeongguk thinks. If there were a deity to run over the ocean, it would only make sense for them to be just as beautiful. Yet, Jeongguk would argue that this man’s beauty surpasses the realm he rules over. It’s breathtaking, and the Rabbit doesn’t quite know what to do with himself. 

“Our time is quite limited, perhaps ask me something you don’t know the answer to?” a smile tugs on the corners of his lips. 

Jeongguk furrows his eyebrows in confusion. “You’re the ocean.” 

The man lets out a laugh. “Well, I don’t know about that. You may call me Taehyung, but there is a fine line between being and ruling. I simply watch over the tides, what the ocean does is entirely up to them.” 

Taehyung looks Jeongguk up and down, taking in his appearance. He brings a hand up, causing the rabbit to flinch before realizing what he’s reaching for. 

“You know my name and face. I feel it’s only fair I know what you look like, too,” he mutters, untying the mask from the other’s face and letting it drop onto the sand with a muted thud. “I can see why the waters have been so enthralled. You could say your beauty rivals the moon.” 

Jeongguk can feel warmth rushing to his cheeks. A part of him wonders if this man has him mixed up with the Moon God. “I’m Jeongguk, I merely work for the Moon God, but thank you for your kind words.” 

He scoffs, almost affronted. “It is not the Moon God I asked for. Besides, I’ve always thought Seokjin was a little full of himself.” He waves a hand dismissively. “I am fully aware of who my tides yearn for... or are you suggesting otherwise?” 

Jeongguk freezes. “Of course not, my apologies. I was just—I, um—I was afraid you had mistaken me for someone else.” 

The deity looks at him, expression unreadable. Jeongguk fidgets, digging his fingers into the cool sand and watching as the grains pool between his fingers. He’s starting to regret ever approaching the man, he should’ve run away when he had the chance.

“It would be hard to mistake your beauty as someone else’s,” Taehyung says. The deity’s shamelessness sends Jeongguk speechless. He doesn’t know how much more he can handle. 

“Forgive me if this is overstepping but, this is a lake. Why are you here if you rule over the ocean?” 

The deity laughs—it sounds melodious, Jeongguk wonders if it’s easy to make him laugh. If he’d ever be lucky enough to hear the beautiful sound once again. “‘Ocean’ is rather a broad term. I watch over all of the waters on Earth. The gods don’t concern themselves with the semantics of it all.” 

The Rabbit of the Moon is not well-versed in conversation or social outings. He spends his days with his rabbit spirits and seldom the Moon God. So, there is still a part of him that’s ready to run away from the shore and back into the streets of the town until his chest is heaving. 

Jeongguk doesn’t know what to make of his racing heart, or the foreign warmth in his chest as he talks to Taehyung. All he knows is that he’s breaking one of the two rules the Moon God had given him—to stay away from the ocean deity. But, surely the all-knowing Moon God would have seen a feat like this coming? A part of Jeongguk fears going against orders, but as he looks into Taehyung’s eyes, he can’t help but wonder if this was fates doing. Surely, he was meant to cross paths with the deity tonight, under the pale moonlight of the mid-autumn festival.

Well, fate—the universe, Jeongguk could never tell the difference between the two. He always knew to remain wary of the two, for dealing with the universe’s wrath is unparalleled to a mere god. He doesn’t know much about the intricacies of the universe, but at this moment all he knows is the way Taehyung looks at him—as if he had been the one to forge the fires of each star in the galaxies. 

The ocean deity meets Jeongguk’s gaze as if looking through him. It’s unsettling, so he averts his eyes, instead watches the slow tides tumble into the shore. Taehyung lifts his hand, tucking a strand of Jeongguk’s hair behind his ear and at that moment, Jeongguk feels something blooming within his chest. 

“Something tells me our reunions will be quite frequent, my moon rabbit.” 

○

And so, their stories begin here. Under the pale moonlight, sit two eternal lovers, completely taken by one another. Their meeting was brief, but the impact they left remained immortal. 

The Rabbit and the Ocean—Jeongguk and Taehyung—had the honour of seeing each other every year during the mid-autumn festival. What seemed like one year to the average mortal, was nothing to the gods. They were instantly taken by one another, their hearts knowing no better. 

The ocean deity had often wondered if the act of love was shameful, should a feeling so human belong to a god? His lover was just the opposite, a hopeless romantic who would carve their names into the stars should he ever get the chance. 

The Rabbit of the Moon continued to do his duties on the moon, yearning for the next day he could see his lover. To his knowledge, the Moon God remained unaware of his rendezvous with Taehyung. 

As quickly as time passed for the immortals, both Taehyung and Jeongguk still sat impatiently for the next mid-autumn festival. And each reunion felt like the first, with welcoming arms braced open and loving words whispered between kisses.

But enough chatter, for too much has been explained and not enough shown. We resume our story on one of their many reunions… 

○

“All these years and you still act as if it is our first meeting?” Taehyung says, eyes waning into crescents as he smiles. 

Jeongguk blushes, taking on his human form before stepping out from the bushes. They always meet here, on the shore of the beach where they first met all those years ago. 

Taehyung stands toeing the shoreline, back facing the water as he watches Jeongguk from afar. It brings warmth into the Rabbit’s heart, his chest fluttering at the sight of his lover. 

“I missed you,” Jeongguk mumbles, throwing his arms around the other. He brings him close as if holding him tight enough will make up for the year of lost time. 

“As did I, my moon rabbit.” Taehyung tucks his face into Jeongguk’s neck, placing a gentle kiss on the skin. They stand like that for a while, rocking back and forth—embraced with one another under the light of the full moon, hearts threatening to beat out of their chests. 

Jeongguk pulls away first, taking in Taehyung’s features. It’s become a routine now—every year, the two will take a moment to simply look at each other, it’s a silent way of ensuring that they’ve memorized the other's features. 

And then, the deity leans in to press a kiss to Jeongguk’s lips. He tastes of saltwater and smells of the sea, something which the Rabbit has quickly grown accustomed to. The warm feeling in his chest blooms once again, threatening to spill out of his heart to burst at the seams. Jeongguk has never felt such warmth before—he invites it to stay for eternity. Pulling away, Taehyung meets his eyes once again.

“What have I missed? You look much more beautiful these days,” the ocean deity says with a teasing grin. 

“You say that every year,” Jeongguk rolls his eyes, playfully swatting at Taehyung’s shoulder. “We look the same. It’s not like we age.” 

Taehyung laughs softly. He grabs Jeongguk’s hand and invites him to sit on the sand together. “Yes, but I like calling you beautiful. It’s fun to see how pink you turn.” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jeongguk scoffs with a pink hue to his cheeks. He nestles himself in Taehyung’s lap, quietly watching as the tides meet the shore. 

A comfortable silence falls upon them. Taehyung takes it as an opportunity to run his fingers through Jeongguk’s hair, who hums in content at the comforting touch. 

Taehyung can’t remember when he first fell in love with Jeongguk. Maybe it was from the moment he laid eyes on him—he knew the small animal watching him was something more, yet he never quite expected it to change his life. 

The ocean deity was a firm pessimist. He believed in love but didn’t think it was fit for a god. An immortal shouldn’t be allowed to have something just as eternal, it defies everything he has ever learned. So when he met Jeongguk, he was skeptical. Why was he presented with the chance for eternal happiness? 

He’s thought a lot about this. Humans live for eighty years and some don’t even get the chance of love. Caught between living their lives in regret or remorse, there’s no room to think about themselves. Taehyung believes that this is their fatal flaw, there were nights he feared that he’d suffer from the same demise. 

But, Taehyung has long realized that he can’t help but listen to his heart. As much as he wanted to stay away from the Rabbit of the Moon, he soon learned that his heart was weak and unable for the other. Whether it was some sick plan the universe had for him, he no longer cared. Somewhere along the way, his fear of the unknown slowly morphed into a fear of losing Jeongguk—Taehyung thinks this is when he first realized he loved him. 

Yet, it’s only a matter of time before this happiness is ripped from his grasp. It’s evident in the shortening days, that time is no longer on their side. 

“What are you thinking about?” Jeongguk asks just above a whisper, reaching up to tuck a strand of Taehyung’s hair behind his ear. He looks lovely like this—in Taehyung’s arms, bathed in the moonlight. He cherishes this moment, wishing he could live in it for eternity. 

“Humans.” He doesn’t think it’s necessary to share such depressing thoughts during their rare meetings. 

Jeongguk regards him with a look, scrunching his nose in confusion. “Why? I thought you didn’t like them.” 

“Yes, but I thought I should try to view them from your perspective. There’s a strange charm to them, I think. I’d never talk to one though, I don’t know how you do it.” It’s the truth, Taehyung doesn’t know how Jeongguk could see them in such a positive light. Yet, it goes both ways, for Jeongguk will never understand why Taehyung can’t seem to find an ounce of good in humans. 

His lover lets out a giggle. “They’re not that bad. The children are quite lovely, you should see them when I tell them my stories. It’s like… they’ve never heard anything quite like them.” 

Though the children from his first meeting with Taehyung have long grown up, now a part of their own families, Jeongguk still manages to pass the stories down to the children of this generation. He’s sure that a few of the children he tells stories to now are descendants of the others, even seeing a few of their relatives roaming the streets during the festival. He still keeps his identity hidden to protect himself, but there are nights he misses some of the children, he only hopes that they are at peace. 

“What do you tell them?” 

“Everything—about the Moon God, about you, about us.” Jeongguk smiles when he speaks, there’s an air of magic to it. When he talks about the children, Taehyung can see the love he holds for humans, it almost makes him want to see the good in them. 

“It’s no wonder they love you, you’re quite magnificent.” The deity leans back, digging his palms into the sand and looking to the moon. 

He rolls his eyes teasingly. “Well, I don’t know about that. But, they are the sweetest. I would love for you to meet them one day.” 

“I don’t think that will be happening anytime soon,” Taehyung scoffs. “Our experiences of humans are quite different if you’ve forgotten.” 

It’s quite harsh, but Taehyung can’t help the malice laced in his voice. Jeongguk has a limited idea of what humans are, of what they’re capable of. He’s only here a few days out of the year whilst Taehyung is damned to Earth for eternity. Taehyung has seen atrocious acts at the hands of humans. His waters grow weaker and weaker at their carelessness, and he only wonders how much longer he has. 

But of course, the deity has chosen to keep this part of his life a secret. There’s no need to taint the little time they have with one another with something as menial as humans. Taehyung will be just fine and he will be able to spend his eternity with his lover. 

Jeongguk pulls one of Taehyung’s hands from the sand to entwine their fingers together. “I’m sorry if I pushed, I know the topic is quite sensitive.” 

The ocean deity looks at him with kindness, he tightens his grasp on the other’s hand. “You have nothing to apologize for, my moon rabbit. The last thing I want to do is waste time being angry with our little time together.” 

“I love you,” Jeongguk whispers, almost like a prayer. 

“And I love you,” Taehyung smiles, placing a kiss on his forehead. “You are everything I have ever wanted and more. I have seen every inch of the ocean. Warmth is not something I am used to, my realm is cold and dark yet you are warm and bright. Some nights, I’d like to think that you were made for me and I for you.” 

“That’s a wonderful thought, isn’t it?” Jeongguk giggles. “I’d like to think the same, Taehyung. The galaxy is quite beautiful—I have seen stars born from nebulae, singularities collapse, and I have witnessed Saturn forge its rings. And yet, none of that will ever compare to your beauty. We were made for each other. And one day, we will have each other forever. I’m sure of it.” 

Taehyung smiles softly, wondering how so much love can fit inside of a heart. “If only the universe could be so kind.” 

Yet, time is as cruel as it always is. As the moon slowly sets into the horizon, he knows it’s time for Jeongguk to leave. Their goodbyes are always painful as if something has gripped the spaces between his ribs and squeezed, suffocating him with no remorse. It’s unfair, to be ripped away from the one you love so cruelly. 

But, perhaps this is the exchange for having a love so pure. A punishment of sorts, because an immortal being should not have access to immortal entities such as love or happiness. The universe is fair in this way, yet Taehyung only sees it as wicked. 

The farewell sits heavy on the tip of his tongue before the Rabbit stops him. “We will see each other again, so let’s not say goodbye this time. Let’s just say, until next time.” 

Taehyung nods his head. He leans in, taking Jeongguk’s lips to his in a kiss. The way they hold one another is almost desperate, hands roaming around one another’s bodies in an attempt to mould them into themselves. Jeongguk tries to memorize the way Taehyung’s lips feel on his own—cold yet so warm. 

It makes Jeongguk wonder, if the deities take on the characteristics of the planes they rule over, then why is Taehyung so warm? The oceans, deemed as unruly and cruel, are watched over by a deity who wears his heart on his sleeve and kisses Jeongguk as if it is with his last breath. 

Slowly, with tears streaked across their cheeks, they break apart. Taehyung wipes a stray tear from Jeongguk’s cheek. “Then I shall see you soon, at the next mid-autumn festival. Until next time, my moon rabbit.” 

○

A happy ending is to be expected in a story like this, shouldn’t it? Alas, this story is not quite your average one. We’re talking about the Rabbit of the Moon and the ocean deity, nothing about their love is normal. Fate created them for one another, yet the universe has cruelly ripped them apart. 

Do not be cross with me, for there are many tales of tragic lovers—Hades and Persephone, Bajirao and Mastani, the Butterfly Lovers, and so much more. It seems to be that heartbreak falls hand in hand with any good love story, so isn’t it just as fitting that the Rabbit of the Moon and the ocean deity see this same fate? 

Then again, this is simply a retelling of their story. This has all happened before and is simply a part of history. I can’t quite assure you on whether they are happy together or not, where’s the fun in that? 

However, this last encounter between the Rabbit of the Moon and the ocean deity is just that—the last. The ocean deity was nowhere to be found the following year, or the year after that, or the one after that.

It’s quite cruel, for neither of them got to have a proper goodbye. The poor Rabbit of the Moon was so sure he would be able to see his lover once again that he deprived himself of that. It’s almost as if it was intended by the universe, how heartbreaking. 

Of course, the Rabbit had waited many years for his lover to return, spending many nights on the shore of that beach. At some point, he stopped visiting the town’s children in case he would miss his lover’s appearance. 

The children were at first distressed at his disappearance, wondering where the man with the rabbit mask had gone. 

As time does, it moves on, taking the children with it. And slowly, not only were his stories forgotten by the children, but by himself. It was as if the rabbit had never existed. 

But, we’re getting ahead of ourselves, let’s pick up right at the exciting part, shall we?

○

“Mr. Rabbit, do you have any more stories to tell us?” A young boy jumps up from his spot, tugging at Jeongguk’s hanbok as he says his goodbyes. 

Jeongguk looks down at the boy, grinning. “Not for tonight, at least! Come back tomorrow, and I’ll have something exciting to tell you.” 

“Like what?” The boy asks, eyes widened in curiosity. 

“I guess you’ll just have to come back tomorrow,” Jeongguk laughs. He leans down, dramatically looking from side to side. “But between you and me, it’s about the Rabbit of the Moon’s best friend.” 

“His best friend? Isn’t it the Moon God?” 

Jeongguk shakes his head, causing the boy to gasp. “Have you heard of the ocean deity?” 

The boy shakes his head. “Who is he?”

He straightens up, patting the young boy on the head. “He watches over the ocean of course. The Rabbit of the Moon and the ocean deity always say hello to each other during this time. Who knows? Maybe you’ll get to see them.”

“Do they always see each other?”

Jeongguk nods. “Always, they promised.” 

“I’ll be here tomorrow, Mr. Rabbit. I’ll be the first one!” 

“I look forward to it. Now, run along. I think your mother is waiting for you.” Jeongguk points to a woman in the distance, waving her hand at the two of them with a kind smile. 

When the children have all gone home, Jeongguk quickly makes his way deeper into the field. The beach isn’t far from here, but he’s growing impatient just thinking about his reunion with Taehyung. 

They always meet after Jeongguk sees the kids, it’s a promise he made to himself when they had first met, one Taehyung had begrudgingly accepted. Jeongguk wanted to make sure that the children knew of the Rabbit of the Moon. He loved having his name spread through families and passed down to children. It brought him great joy being recognized. 

He skips through the field, giggling in excitement when he spots the patch of shrubbery he usually tucks himself behind. He quickly takes on his rabbit form, scurrying through the greenery. Whether it’s because of his nerves or the way his lover looks at him so endearingly, or maybe both, he’s made it a habit to hide behind the bushes. 

Over the centuries, the trees and shrubbery have overgrown, now completely spreading through the field but leaving the beach just as spacious as it’s unable to flourish in the sand. He hides behind a tree, peeking his head out to find Taehyung. 

His ears slowly flatten against his head as he realizes the man is nowhere to be seen. Jeongguk hops out from the tree, craning his head side to side. His foot thumps in confusion, deciding to quickly take on his human form to get a better view. 

Jeongguk runs to the shore, but it remains just as empty as the rest of the beach. Something heavy grows in the pit of his stomach, he almost feels sick. It’s not like Taehyung to hide or to forget their reunions. 

Had the ocean deity finally grown sick of Jeongguk? Was it because of his naivety? Jeongguk knew he had spoken highly of the humans on many occasions; he wonders if that had upset his lover. Even so, it’s unlike the deity to simply vanish. Taehyung was feisty and honest—if he was upset with Jeongguk, he would tell him with no hesitation. 

Another part of him wonders if Taehyung is sick. Has something happened to him? But, Taehyung is a god, he’s untouchable. That couldn’t be it.

Where could he have gone?

“Taehyung?” Jeongguk yells at the empty beach, voice echoing out onto the vast waters. He looks up at the full moon, briefly wondering if the Moon God can hear his wails. “Where are you?” 

His chest aches and his throat is almost raw from screaming. It’s been the better part of an hour and Jeongguk still hasn’t stopped searching. Surely, Taehyung has to be here somewhere? 

Jeongguk trails along the shore, feet covered in sand and on the edges of his hanbok. He doesn’t care for his clothes, determined to find his lover. He’s looked everywhere—behind the tree he hid the first time they met, amongst the bushes, even the opposite end of the beach. Taehyung was nowhere. 

If he wasn’t so distressed, Jeongguk swears he could laugh at the irony. The ocean is right there, yet its ruler is nowhere in sight.

All Jeongguk can hear is his ragged breathing and the crashing of the waves against the shore. In the distance, he can hear the echoing laughter of children and vendors yelling their prices to the town. He wonders if he should scream once more, to let someone—anyone—know that he’s here, waiting. 

Can’t you see me? I’m here, just like we promised. 

The ugly truth is, Jeongguk could scream as much as he wanted at the water, yet it will always fall upon deaf ears. 

If no one had been there to see their love, then had it really existed? He hadn’t told the children of the love between the Moon Rabbit and the ocean deity, only that they had merely crossed paths. He should’ve told the world about them—how the deity had looked at the Rabbit with nothing but an unwithering love that bloomed warmth into the Rabbit’s chest. No one will know any of that. 

Their love will never be immortal, and this is what terrifies Jeongguk. 

Jeongguk is certain he’s walked up and down the shore at least ten times. He lets out a breath, chest heaving from all of the running, and collapses onto his knees in the sand. Looking out onto the water, he tries to fight the tears welling in his eyes. 

“You promised me.” 

○

Ah yes, the dramatics of it all—the poor Rabbit of the Moon curled up on the shore of a beach, his first and only lover nowhere in sight. Doesn’t it all just want to make you cry?

The Rabbit was inconsolable. That night, he watched the waves collapse onto the shore, wondering if the ocean deity was in its tow. The water looked unsettlingly calm as if everything was fine in the world. The moon sat high in the sky, reflecting so beautifully onto the water and the Rabbit couldn’t help but damn them both—how could the two embrace one another so shamelessly after he had just lost his lover? 

Now, rest assured, the ocean deity is not dead. But rather, he had been keeping the truth from his lover. Although some would say a lying man is just as good as a dead man, our ocean deity is in good faith and the Rabbit of the Moon will simply have to live through this grief. The truth will be revealed soon, what fun is it if I tell you now?

This was the last time they would see each other for quite a while. Every mid-autumn festival, the Rabbit would return to the shore of the beach and curl up onto the shore, waiting for his lover to return. 

And of course, every visit was spent alone.

○

“Would you like some songpyeon, son?” An old lady offers. 

Jeongguk recognizes her. She runs the songpyeon stand just at the entrance of the town, always greeting the citizens with a kind smile. He accepts the rice cake with a bow, thanking her in the process. Her hands are small and wrinkled, yet cold to the touch. 

She’s quite short, she stands well below Jeongguk’s shoulder. 

Tonight, he runs into her on a walk in the outskirts of town. The sound of laughing children and vendors advertising their products can be heard in the distance. 

“You can save it for later, for whenever you…” she trails off, gesturing to her face. Jeongguk nods, his anonymity is respected amongst the townsfolk—something he’s grown quite grateful for over the centuries. “Now, what’s The Rabbit doing out here in the middle of nowhere? Shouldn’t you be out in town, telling your stories?” 

Every lifetime, he’s known by a different name—rabbit man, the storyteller, the moon man. The names aren’t creative, but Jeongguk has little say in what excited children choose to name him. It’s endearing, once one of them has a nickname for him, it sticks for years until their next lineage chooses another. The children here call him Mr. Rabbit whilst their parents simply know him as The Rabbit. 

“Not tonight, I’m afraid,” is all he responds with. I don’t know how to face the children, is what he wants to say. He always found great joy in his stories about the Moon God, the ocean deity, and the Rabbit of the Moon. This year, it only adds salt to the wound. 

Not only that, but the children always look at Jeongguk with such enthusiasm as he spoke. They would hang onto each and every one of his words, eyes wide and mouths agape in anticipation. They saw the world in him, and it brought warmth into Jeongguk’s heart. 

Jeongguk doesn’t know how long it’s been since he last saw Taehyung, but every year apart seems to tear the ripple in his chest ever so slightly. 

“That’s a shame,” she hums. Dried leaves crunch under their shoes as they walk, they’re not headed anywhere in particular. “The children love your stories. But, they can be quite a handful, so I understand. Will the children hear your stories tomorrow?” 

Jeongguk avoids the question. “I don’t mean to be rude, but what are you doing out here after dark? Isn’t it quite dangerous?” His tone is genuine. 

The ahjumma laughs loudly in response as if Jeongguk had just said something hilarious. “Son, it’s going to take a lot more than a scary forest to kill me.” 

He stutters out an apology, bowing in the process. Jeongguk doesn’t know this woman well, but he knows she is well respected among the townsfolk. He’s had very few exchanges with her before—hellos and goodbyes, the occasional conversation about the weather. 

She waves him off with a smile. “I understand your concern. However, my family has lived in this town for centuries. I may even know it better than you!”

“You give me too much credit, I’m just like everyone else in this town.” 

She lets out another laugh. “I’m sure you are, is that why you ignored my other question?” 

Jeongguk flushes, adjusting his mask in anxiety. “The children don’t need to hear my stories. I’ve told them all that I know.” 

He’s been thinking of this for quite a while. The last few years have been simple retellings, but it hasn’t felt the same. Every word he speaks is just as empty as the vessel that tells it. It’s been a tough pill to swallow—just how much Taehyung truly meant to him, and the devastation he left in his wake. 

It’s almost unfair. Jeongguk had made him his world, and perhaps this was his first mistake but can he really be the one to blame? Taehyung was—is—his first love, there will always be nothing but warmth in Jeongguk’s heart for him.

Truthfully, Jeongguk holds no malice towards his lover. How could he be angry with the man who tore through his chest and settled a home in between the spaces of his ribs? It’s hard to be angry at someone you hold so dear to your heart—let alone someone you’d spend every day of eternity together should you have the chance. 

The ahjumma sighs, crashing Jeongguk back into reality. “Now that just isn’t true, is it? I’ve been in this town for quite a while now, and every year I have the joy of hearing your stories from my nieces and nephew, and now my grandchildren. Whether you feel like your stories no longer deserve to be heard, or if you are simply tired, then you have the option to flee this town and never look back.” 

She stops in her tracks, looking at Jeongguk with a knowing glare. Jeongguk looks at her dumbly, yet she only sees the monotonous expression of the rabbit mask. 

“Why do you keep coming back? Why this town? If there is nothing here for you, why choose to stay?”

Jeongguk doesn’t respond. 

Then, she laughs. It’s a hearty laugh—one that has her shoulders racking with every gasp as she bends down, placing her hands on her knees. Jeongguk doesn’t recall saying anything funny, yet the ahjumma continues to laugh. 

“You are just the same as I remember, Rabbit of the Moon. So innocent, yet so naive.” 

He freezes at the title. He’s been called many things on Earth, but never his real title. The revelation is jarring, and Jeongguk takes a long look at the woman in case he recognizes her. Perhaps, she was another deity? Or, someone sent by the Moon God to check on him? 

Either way, the exchange sends an unsettling shiver down his spine. Whoever this woman may be, she definitely recognizes Jeongguk—he can see it in the way she looks at him. 

“How do you…”

“Do you think that your sort of magic is the only kind to exist?” She continues. “However, I had a feeling you didn’t recognize me. I’m nowhere near the beauty I once was,” she finishes with a laugh. 

Jeongguk stares at the ahjumma, trying to place her. If she’s lived in the town for as long as she says she had, then it’s possible that she could’ve been one of the children he knew?

“Still nothing?” She feigns annoyance. “I’m offended, I’ve kept your secret all these years and you don’t even remember. It’s quite irresponsible, isn’t it?” 

Secret? 

“Your secret is safe with me, ahjussi.” 

And then, it hits him. Like ice water pouring down his back, Jeongguk is immobilized by the realization. There aren’t many things that leave Jeongguk speechless, for someone who has watched stars explode and planets align, this should be nothing. Yet, why does it feel as if his entire universe has collapsed? 

He breathes. “Nayeon?” 

She smiles at him. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

The child he knew all those years ago should be long gone. How could it be possible that she still remains on this Earth? Then again, Jeongguk should be the last person to question the universe and its workings. 

“I don’t understand—” 

“You don’t need to,” Nayeon interrupts. “I didn’t come here to help you understand.” 

Jeongguk sighs. “Then why—” 

“Something is wrong,” she pauses. “With you.” 

“Excuse me?” 

“I don’t concern myself with the gods, it never ends well. But, I fear I have no other options,” she rushes. She sounds distressed, like approaching Jeongguk was the very last thing she had ever wanted to do. 

Jeongguk hums, prompting her to continue. He quirks a brow in apprehension, not understanding what Nayeon is trying to tell him. 

“This year’s harvest fell short. The farmers are concerned it won’t last us through the winter,” she starts.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t understand—” 

“It hasn’t rained. We live near a lake yet we haven’t seen a drop of it. And yet, when our men take the water from the lake, it kills the harvest. Why do you think that is?”

“The lake? But…” Bile rises in Jeongguk’s throat. If the water is killing the plants, that couldn’t mean Taehyung has something to do with it? Of course, it does, Jeongguk would be foolish to think otherwise. 

He doesn’t want to believe that there is something wrong with the water, because that would mean that there’s something wrong with Taehyung. 

Nayeon looks into Jeongguk’s eyes. Her gaze is cold, mouth set into a firm line. This way, Jeongguk can see just how much she’s aged, it makes him wonder how much longer she has left. He never thought humans could gain immortality, but by the looks of her ageing, it seems that even this eternity is temporary for humans. 

“I don’t know what you call him, but the one who looks over the waters is not here.”

“You think that something has happened to the ocean deity?”

“I don’t think,” she pauses. “I know it. He hasn’t been here for a long time. At first, we managed with what we had but now, I fear we can no longer sustain the town.”

His world is spinning. Jeongguk has never been one to curse the universe but he can’t help but feel hopeless. He thought that Taehyung had forgotten about him, but the chance that he’s hurt dizzies him. Jeongguk doesn’t know what to do, he’s never been equipped to handle dire situations, he barely holds any importance on the moon, let alone on Earth. 

He closes his eyes, letting out a shaky breath. “What do you want me to do?” 

Truthfully, Jeongguk has no idea what he’d do. Despite venturing its many places, he still has little knowledge of Earth. 

Jeongguk has mourned his loss already. He’s spent many long nights on the shore of the lake, crying to every god he could think of for a chance at seeing his ocean once again. It’s been nothing but painful, living each day with a dwindling shred of hope. Giving up on searching meant giving up on Taehyung. 

He doesn’t know when he lost himself in the process. 

Yet, the ache in his chest still lingers. Jeongguk carries Taehyung with him wherever he goes, the home the deity built in his chest—although vacant, now replaced by an ugly void—is still there, waiting for him to return. 

When Nayeon looks at Jeongguk, it’s with a hard gaze. She’s looking right through him, he thinks. As if she can see him through the mask as if she has always seen Jeongguk for what he is. 

“Find him.” 

○

What an exciting turn of events. I told you all the ocean deity was keeping secrets. But, then again, what else can we expect from a god?

And what happened to Nayeon? A mortal woman turned immortal? This is something quite unheard of, is it not? But then again, her identity amongst the gods has always been quite… peculiar. Her story is rather similar to the Moon God’s—born a human and entangled herself with the gods. A tragic love story at that, another selfish divinity attempting to immortalize their love. I’m afraid this is all I can tell you of her story at this given moment, for the threads of her fate are constantly changing. 

But, now is not the time to ask questions, we’re finally getting to the best part—the chaos! 

The Rabbit of the Moon had searched far and wide for his lover. He had roamed the seashore until his legs ached and his robes had torn. With his heart in his throat, he had slowly been losing hope. 

Years later, his attempts were fruitless for the ocean deity remained nowhere in sight. 

Imagine it—a man draped in blue robes, rabbit mask now tied to his hip, screaming on the shore of an unknown lake until his throat was raw. On his knees, the Rabbit grabs fistfuls of sand, watching as the grains slip through his fingers, and with it, his lingering hope. 

He curses the stars, certain that they’re laughing at him at this very moment. Oh, how he wishes to burn as brightly as they do, to feel the golden warmth trickle down his spine and down his fingertips—to feel nothing but warmth on his skin. 

How he wishes to be next to his lover’s warmth. 

However, we won’t leave in the midst of the Rabbit’s despair. Not because I pity the immortal, but rather because amongst the burning stars in the skies of Seoul, lingers another light. A light I think everyone deserves to see. 

○

Jeongguk hasn’t spoken to the Moon God in quite a while. He’s lost count of the days, not really minding the absence. Truthfully, the Rabbit has been avoiding him more than anything—throwing himself into his tasks, coincidentally taking a walk when a spirit had notified him that the god was approaching. 

He wasn’t angry with the Moon God, it was more akin to resentment. Resentment for allowing Jeongguk on Earth, for letting him get distracted (but this is more his own fault than anyone else's), and most of all, for warning him about Taehyung. 

Maybe, in another life, the Moon God had never warned Jeongguk about Taehyung—a life where Jeongguk’s curiosity would have never sparked. It was like a pathetic moth to a flame, the Rabbit had been enraptured from the very moment he laid his eyes on the deity. 

Jeongguk sits on the shore of the beach, another mid-autumn festival spent alone. It’s a strange visual—a white rabbit perched on the sand, so close to the water. He hasn’t given up on telling the children his stories, yet his visits to the village are less frequent. It causes him too much pain to speak his stories now. He tries to keep the ocean deity out of it, but how could he when Taehyung is so entwined in Jeongguk’s very being? 

The town still suffers from drought, making it near impossible to inhabit. Jeongguk doesn’t know how the townsfolk survive, but he commends them for their work. 

How many nights will he spend thinking about Taehyung? Nostalgia is a wave crashing against the shore and Jeongguk is unlucky enough to get caught in its tow. 

It’s laughable, two immortal beings falling in love and never again seeing one another. 

Never. The word is already dire to humans, but to the immortals? It’s so much more. A human life ends in eighty years while the gods are damned to roam the universe with whatever cards they’ve been dealt with. Eventually, Jeongguk’s time with Taehyung will only be an almost non-existent fraction of the life he has lived. And yet, this fraction will have somehow caused a ripple in Jeongguk’s life. 

The white rabbit stares at his reflection in the water, his human self staring back at him mockingly. He knows he must look pathetic, but he can’t help but believe that he’ll once again reunite with his lover. 

If his time with Taehyung is a non-existent fraction of his immorality, then perhaps they will one day meet again. When the stars begin to burn in sympathy, and fate has decided to unravel its threads, then may the Rabbit of the Moon and the Ocean Deity meet again. If there is a chance he will never see Taehyung again, then therein lies the same chance that they will one day reunite. 

His ears twitch. A splashing sound breaks him from his thoughts and in a flash, Jeongguk scrambles to the bushes. 

Maybe it was a child skipping stones, but what child would stray so far from the town? Perhaps, two lovers strolling the shore? Whatever it is, it sends a chill down Jeongguk’s spine and has the furs on his neck rising. He tries to look intimidating, puffing himself up while trying to stand tall on his feet. 

Another splash, he lets out a whimper as he peeks out onto the shore. Through the tides, a man rises from the waters and Jeongguk’s heart jumps.

The man is not soaked, is completely untouched by the water despite just arising from the waves. Yet, he looks pained. Jeongguk can’t see his face as the man is hunched over in what seems to be pain. 

His movements are slow and forced, dragging himself across the sand with what little strength remains in his frail body. The man looks to be on the brink of death, resting his head on the sand. 

Moments later, the man slowly raises his head from the sand, leaving Jeongguk frozen in fear. 

And for the first time in what has felt like centuries, it begins to rain. 

It starts off as a drizzle before quickly turning into something angrier. Thunder claps in the sky, flashing the clouds brightly. The wind whips against Jeongguk’s fur, his ears flattening against his head. 

The Rabbit has been in this world longer than Saturn has had its rings, he’s experienced the birth and demise of the stars, and yet he has never seen anything like Taehyung. Jeongguk likes to think there is a definitive line between the immortal and the universe.

He wonders when Taehyung became both. 

And Taehyung, just like the day they first met centuries ago, meets Jeongguk’s eyes with a pained smirk. 

“All these years,” he laughs with a wince. “And you still act as if it’s our first meeting.” 

Jeongguk realizes that the universe is indeed laughing at him when, after a centuries-long absence, his frail lover collapses into a heap on the sand.

He runs across the beach, still staggering as he changes his form. Taehyung looks weak—frail and thin, it tears the fragments of Jeongguk’s heart. 

“Taehyung, please,” he begs, lifting his head onto his lap. The deity’s eyes are closed, eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks. “Please, you’re here—you’re finally here. Don’t go, don’t leave me. You have to—to talk to me,” he hiccups. 

His vision blurs as tears threaten to spill. Jeongguk has never experienced death before, no immortal truly has. Of course, there were the children he told stories to, but they would grow old and live their lives flourishingly until they were returned to the universe. The death of a human and the death of an immortal are strikingly different. 

One is expected, the other is dreaded.

The waters become angrier, slamming against the shore in haste. Almost to say, take him now, help him. Jeongguk loops his arms under Taehyung’s, dragging him away from the shore and well onto the sand. 

“Where—where were you? What happened to you?” Jeongguk’s voice cracks. “You’re sick.” 

“I’m sorry,” he croaks. “I left you for so long.” 

“It’s okay,” Jeongguk takes in a shaky breath, carefully cupping Taehyung’s cheeks. “You’re here now, that’s all that matters. You’re here—you’re with me.” 

“My love,” Taehyung whispers. “My waters are sick, as am I. I fear I don’t have much time left.” 

“No, no. That’s not fair,” Jeongguk can taste the salty tears on his tongue as they streak down his cheeks mercilessly. “You can’t leave—you’re—you’re going to be fine. I just got you back. What should I do?” 

“Please,” the deity rasps. “Just hold me like this.” 

“You’re not leaving me,” he whimpers. There’s a tear in his chest, an ugly ache that blooms into something excruciating as if someone had dug their fingers into the crevices. “You can’t,” he finishes gently. 

“I’m sorry,” Taehyung says, voice wavering. “I couldn’t let you see me like this. I—” he pauses, taking a deep breath. “I saw you every year, waiting for me here. I wanted to see you—”

“Stop talking. Just—please.” The deity looks weak, and for the first time, Jeongguk feels powerless. He looks weak, and with every breath he takes, the light in his eyes dims that much more. Jeongguk doesn’t know what to do, his mind is numb and his hands are shaking. Save for the deity’s ragged breathing and the harsh sound of waves, he’s deaf to the world around them. “I forgive you, I’ll always forgive you.” 

The water begins to act violently. Harsh waves hit the shore one after another as the deity's health begins to slip and Jeongguk begins to count the seconds they have left. 

Jeongguk gently presses a kiss to Taehyung’s lips. He can’t tell if it’s a hello or goodbye. He tries not to focus on the looming possibility, instead fixates on the taste of sea salt and rain on his lips—briefly, he wonders if the taste is from his tears, or from the ocean. 

When they pull away, silence envelops them. Both immortals are breathing heavily, tears now running down both their cheeks. Distantly, Jeongguk wonders if the stars are laughing at him—after all, they’ve always been on fate’s side. It’s heart-wrenching, and almost laughable now that he thinks of it, how he’s spent an eternity by their side and this is what he’s been repaid with. 

“I love you,” Taehyung winces. “Should the day come that you forget my face, remember that I love you.” 

“Stop talking like that,” Jeongguk says through gritted teeth. “You’re not going anywhere, you can’t.” 

Throughout Jeongguk’s immortal life, he can count the times he has acted selfishly on one hand. The first, he had stolen a piece of candy from a vendor when they weren’t looking—in his defence, Jeongguk wasn’t familiar with the currency… or the concept of theft. The second time, he had forgotten to bring back a few songpyeon for his spirits, and by forgetting, he means he ate them on the way back because he was feeling hungry. The other few times were so minuscule he can barely recall them. 

He’s never been rude or brash, it just wasn’t in his nature. Jeongguk knew that as a god, it was up to him to remain selfless and kind in a world where such traits come rarely. However, when his lover is teetering the line between life and death, Jeongguk can’t help but act against everything he’s been taught. 

Your sole purpose is to protect the elixir, Rabbit of the Moon. Should you fail, and you will feel not only the wrath of me, a mere god, but the universe. 

The small vial burns a hole in his pocket. Jeongguk weighs his options, knowing well he’d be damned should he choose to upset the balance of the universe. The elixir not only has the ability to make the mortal immortal, but heal the immortals too. As in, regain their immortality. It was created for the Moon God, to assist in his conditional immortality. The only time it is meant to be consumed by another is under great chaos or disaster. 

It is not meant to fall into the hands of the selfish. 

It’s hand in hand with fate. An immortal must not die until the universe decides it is time. Yet, the threads of Taehyung’s fate are unravelling, and Jeongguk decides to get caught in them. 

He weighs the option, contemplating it for a moment. What would happen to him if he lets Taehyung die here in his arms, with no audience but the mocking stars and the palling moonlight? Would his story go down in history, or will he be forgotten? 

Jeongguk decides that he doesn’t have time to question his fate. It’s a small thing—a prism-like shape that fits right into the palm of his hand, full with only a few drops of the elixir. He acts hastily, reaching into his pocket for the vial before ripping the top open with his teeth. 

“Taehyung, are you still there?” Jeongguk rushes, adjusting his lover’s head back. He gets a wheezing groan in response, like it hurts for Taehyung to make any noise. 

The water is ugly, desperate to bring whatever touches it beneath its tow. It acts mercilessly. Jeongguk understands—the water is grieving. It’s grieving its ruler, a loved one. 

Jeongguk is all too familiar with the feeling, for rage is a collateral of grief. 

So, with his heart matching the raging storm, Jeongguk brings the vial to his lover’s lips. 

○

My, oh my. What heinous crime the Rabbit of the Moon has committed. To not only go against the Moon God, but fate? It makes one wonder, what gives us the right to play with the threads of fate? Even a god makes mistakes, don’t they? 

Now, whatever you believe fate is—whether it’s the moirai, or something bigger, more abstract—someone always gets hurt when tangled within it. Personally, handling fate and the universe has never been fun. They’re quite petty, to be frank. 

The poor ocean deity... never did he want to anger the cosmos. He’s only a pawn in a hostile game between the Rabbit of the Moon and the universe. How hard it must be to be saved by your lover, and be damned in the process. Perhaps, our two lovers never did have a happy ending. But, I’m getting ahead of myself. 

Aren’t you all dying to know what’s next? 

○

The storm halts, yet the miserable gray clouds remain. Jeongguk is soaked from head to toe, droplets of rain drip from his hair and onto Taehyung’s cheeks.

The deity’s eyes are still closed, yet his chest slowly rises and falls. The glass vial was thrown haphazardly onto the sand after it had been emptied, Jeongguk didn’t want to look at it any longer and getting rid of it meant he could delude himself that everything would be fine. 

Taehyung stirs, groaning as he opens his eyes. Jeongguk holds Taehyung’s face gently in his palms, afraid to break him. 

As they pull away, the deity takes in Jeongguk’s distraught appearance, gaze softening as he smiles. 

Jeongguk’s eyes flicker to the vial for a moment, fearing Taehyung’s reaction. He hopes the deity remains unaware of his actions, yet his prayers are ignored as Taehyung’s eyebrows furrow, following Jeongguk’s gaze. His eyes flicker towards the empty vial, eyes widening in realization. 

“My moon rabbit, what did you do?” He says with a whisper, gaze focused on the empty vial. 

Jeongguk falters, lips trembling. “I’m sorry.” 

“You shouldn’t have done that—what will become of us?” Taehyung says, voice distraught. “Jeongguk—” 

“They’ll take you from me,” he mumbles, moving Taehyung’s hair from his eyes. “Those who abuse the power of the elixir shall feel the wrath of the Moon God and the universe,” he whispers to himself. “I know what I’ve done. Do you think I can live in a world where you do not roam? Should I never see you again, at least I’ll know you’re well on this Earth. Even if I must watch from the ever lonely moon.” 

Taehyung lifts himself from the Rabbit’s lap, wincing as he rises. “If these are my last moments with you, I’d like to hold you in my arms one last time.” 

He lets himself melt into Taehyung’s arms. It’s been centuries since Jeongguk has last been home. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers into the deity’s neck. 

A blinding light shines over them signalling the first light of dawn. The sun peeks out from over the mountains, embracing the world with warmth. The mid-autumn festival is over, as is their time together. 

“Don’t be,” Taehyung says, holding on tighter. “If there is a lifetime where we are apart, then there is one where we are together.”

Taehyung parts from their embrace, leaning in for a kiss. It blooms a bitter warmth in Jeongguk’s chest as if suffocating the flowers that he had so carefully tended to. It’s another cruel joke of the universe—he had just been reunited with his lover after lifetimes and now they’ve once again slipped through one another’s grasp. The kiss tastes of salt and Jeongguk can feel the grains of sand that had stuck to Taehyung’s palm on the back of his neck. It’s uncomfortable, but he wants nothing more than to be pulled closer to his lover, to feel his warmth. 

He wants to scream at the universe until his throat is raw and vision blurred. To speak with a tone dripping with malice. Haven’t you seen the flowers I have grown for him? Do you not understand that I will carve our names into every star should I have the power to? Do you not see how our hearts beat in tandem? How the shores break so beautifully upon the shore when we are together? Are we not tied together by fate? How could you? 

It’s much too cruel for Jeongguk’s innocent heart. His first love is to be taken from him by the universe, and all that will be left of him are his own memories. 

This time, Jeongguk realizes that the kiss is neither a hello nor a goodbye, but rather, a promise. 

On the shore of the beach, in an unnamed town in Seoul, sits the ocean deity with empty arms. He looks up to the sky to the descending moon and mutters something—a greeting, a goodbye, a promise. 

☽

“What have you done?” The Moon God spits, expression unsettlingly calm. Even when betrayed, he remains just as somber. 

Jeongguk keeps his gaze to the ground. He stands alone in front of the Moon God. The spirits have abandoned him, running away the moment they sensed a ripple in the universe. The Moon God’s expression is stone-cold save for the slight curl of his lip. 

“Have you gone mad? Using the elixir you swore to protect on a god?” He runs a hand through his hair, disheveling it in the process. Pacing back and forth, the deity’s resolve slowly crumbles. 

“I’m sorry,” Jeongguk says meekly. He doesn’t know how to respond. There’s no way to fix his actions, and he knows what’s meant to happen to him. 

“You don’t understand, Jeongguk. Fate is quite fond of ‘an eye for an eye,’ if not his life, then whose? An entire town? A city? The whole of humanity? How do you trade in the life of a god? What do you consider its equivalent?” The Moon God appears mad—not in an angry sense, but rather crazed. His eyes are widened as he speaks, lips curling downward in a snarl, his calm composure long gone, now replaced with fear. 

A beat passes. The dam bursts. Jeongguk sobs into his palms—the severity of his actions now sinking in. His body racks with each sob, his breathing becoming erratic. The once-warmth in his chest withers into something ugly, something much colder. 

“Jeongguk,” the god sighs. “It is not me you should apologize to. I am forgiving, the universe, however… I’m afraid you are beyond saving.”

“They’ll kill me, won’t they?”

The god shakes his head, scoffing. “You think they’d be so kind? Don’t be so foolish, killing you would be doing you a favour. Not to mention, your role here is important. As much as it pains them to admit, they need you.” 

The Rabbit whimpers, tears spilling down his cheeks. “What will become of me?” 

“It’s not about what will become of you, but rather your lover too.”

He snaps his head to the god, eyes widened in fear. Jeongguk had made sure to keep their love a secret. Of course, the god knew of their encounters, but Jeongguk made sure the Moon God only saw them as such. Perhaps, Jeongguk was naive for thinking he could keep such a secret. Despite the Moon God being eons younger than Jeongguk, his wisdom is that of, well, a God. 

The Moon God raises a brow. “You thought you were being secretive? Have you forgotten who watches over the moon? You are no exception. I knew of you and the ocean deity all along and I knew what would become of you.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” 

“Who am I to step in the way of fate?” The god laughs dryly. “I am no one in this world, I’m lucky to roam this moon another day. However, I know what love feels like and I wanted you to experience such warmth at least once.”

The confession startles Jeongguk, when had the Moon God been in love? They rarely speak of such things as the deity never mentions his human life. Jeongguk had questioned him once, but he was only met with a rage only a mourning soul is capable of. He never brought up the subject again. 

“Does that surprise you? Well, let’s just say there’s a reason I am not on the sun. But that’s beside the point. I wanted you to experience more than just what was in this cold realm… and if that meant seeing you destroy everything including yourself, then so be it.”

A shiver racks through Jeongguk’s body. He’s exhausted, and he still has no idea what his punishment will be. If not death, then what? Surely they’ll take Taehyung away from him in some way. He only hopes his lover will remain alive. He voices his concerns to the Moon God, voice low in a whisper. 

“It’s cruel,” he whispers. “You can no longer leave the moon, Jeongguk.”

Tears line his vision. He knew he would never be able to see Taehyung again, but forever? Forever for an immortal is… it signifies an ending. The only place Taehyung will linger is in Jeongguk’s mind and heart—both now desolate and everwithering. His love for Taehyung will merely become a fraction in his span of immortality.

“However,” the god speaks again. Jeongguk’s breath hitches. “I was able to bargain with them, it wasn’t easy, but the universe owes me a favour. So, Jeongguk, you will be able to see Taehyung again.”

His head snaps to the deity. “What—“

“I’m not finished,” he sighs. “You may see Taehyung under one condition.”

“What is it?” Jeongguk cries out. “I’ll do anything.” 

The Moon God looks remorseful, averting his gaze to the ground before continuing. “You may reunite with the ocean deity when… when no human can remember who the Rabbit of the Moon is.”

The blood drains from the Rabbit’s face, heart sinking into an abyss. 

The deity continues. “You cannot exist in the mortal realm. When your name has been wiped from the memories of the children you have told your stories to, and their children, and their children’s children. When every book that utters your name is burned, and when children look up at the moon and see nothing but a moon—that is when you may return.” 

Remorse shrouds the Moon God’s face. Perhaps if Jeongguk’s vision wasn’t so cloudy, he would be able to see the tears lining the god’s eyes, how the Rabbit’s ache is not foreign to the deity. The universe is a cruel thing, and not even its deities are safe from its wrath. 

“And when will that be? When will my name cease to exist?” his voice is weak, coming out as a whisper. 

The Moon God avoids eye contact, wiping away a tear. “I don’t know—lifetimes? Eons? We’re talking about the memory of humans, storytelling is embedded in every one of their cultures. You may never be forgotten, Jeongguk.” 

Jeongguk chokes on his tears, falling to the ground. The very stories he loved to tell, his reputation which he held so dearly, the children he thought the world of—all of it has damned him. If no memory of Jeongguk can exist on Earth, then what will become of Taehyung? He asks the Moon God. 

The god smiles, tears now staining his cheeks. “The universe knows he will never forget you, so they have spared him from the agreement.” 

Briefly, Jeongguk wonders if he’ll ever be able to feel his lover’s embrace again. He doesn’t know what he would do if Taehyung had ever forgotten him. The universe is right, it isn’t possible. Their meetings are seared into the Rabbit’s memories, if he closes his eyes, they play vividly in front of him.

The Rabbit tears his gaze from the god. He wants to feel angry, to have something feel his wrath—his sadness, his grief. The Moon God is right, death would’ve been a much kinder alternative. Jeongguk’s story is so deeply rooted in humanity that being forgotten seems nearly impossible. 

Oh, how he aches. His mind, body, heart—all on the cusp of collapsing in on himself. The ache in his chest grows, nestling itself deep into the crevices of Jeongguk’s ribs and squeezing, ripping the roots that had grown so deeply into him. 

Jeongguk thinks of their last moments together, tries to recall the feeling of Taehyung’s warmth beneath his palms and on his lips. How the deity had looked so wrecked at their parting. The whispered goodbyes, the gentle touches, the intense gaze—never to be experienced again. 

The Moon God had once told him the gods are much like the planes they watch over, yet Jeongguk has never once seen the cruelty of the oceans in Taehyung. Never has he felt like he was drowning in Taehyung’s love, it was rather akin to the tides on a full moon—when Jeongguk stands on the shore and watched as the waves tickle his feet, it’s a gentle greeting, rather a yearning lover reaching out. 

He doesn’t know if the humans will ever forget him, his story has rooted itself deeply into their cultures. His very existence has entwined itself with the mid-autumn festival and for this, Jeongguk can’t help but feel like he’s to blame for this damnation. 

And for the lifetimes to come, Jeongguk grasps onto the possibility of reuniting with his lover like a lifeline—whispering their final words like a mantra. 

With his knees planted firmly onto the ground, the Rabbit of the Moon looks out into the vast emptiness of space with a void in his chest. He spots the lonely blue planet and holds his breath as he watches the great blue of its oceans. Into the abyss, he whispers something like a prayer—a greeting, a goodbye, a promise. 

☽

It seems our story has come to an end. Well, not the ending, but the ending of this chapter. It’s been a joy telling you of their tale so far, and I hope you all have learned a lesson here. 

I had once been told that love is something which burns—meant to be made and given away. It’s a rather dark ideology, but I never quite understood it until I had seen the love between the Rabbit of the Moon and the ocean deity. 

It would be cruel of me to say the Rabbit of the Moon and the ocean deity never met again, but never is such a strong word for the immortals. Their story is still being written. 

I feel it is rather unnecessary for me to mention this. I have shared this story with you, and by reading their tremendous yet heartbreaking love, are you and I also not to blame for keeping the two lovers apart? 

You’ve spent this story cursing the universe, fate, and whatever other otherworldly power. Yet, you have forgotten of the power you hold in this story—as a watcher. 

Are we no better than the gods? Than the universe? Well, only time will tell. But don’t fret, for I told you this was a story of two lovers who overcome the wrath of the universe—they have the rest of eternity to find one another. 

And what will I be doing until then? Well, I have affairs to sort with the sun. 

Until next time, when the two meet again.