Work Text:
As Taehyung awoke, blinking in the dark bedroom, two things registered at once. First, it was half past three in the morning, as the digital clock on the nightstand informed him. Second, Jimin was still asleep next to him. He hadn't vanished, or not yet.
Turning to face Jimin, Taehyung reached out toward him. His hand hovered over Jimin's face, hesitating. Then he lightly brushed his knuckles against the fine black hair. The hair felt solid enough, as did the person to which it belonged—but for how long? Half past three in the morning was, after all, the time when the boundaries between worlds grew thin.
With a sigh, he withdrew his hand. The distant crashing of the ocean waves came and went, lullaby-like. It soothed him, made him believe that he would have another day with Jimin. Listening to the sound with half an ear, Taehyung slid back into sleep.
His dreams nowadays tended to be uneasy, shot through with fragments of altered real-life events. His friends never contacted him again once they got jobs. The cabin he was renting stood alone on a vast beach; the inns and houses across the road were gone. These dreams made him unsure whether to be grateful for real life or wary of it.
Later, he woke up alone, which rarely alarmed him. Jimin was an early riser, a habit he had trained himself into. I don't know for sure what any given day will bring, he had once said. So I need to get ready for whatever it is as early for possible.
This morning, as usual, Taehyung found Jimin in the kitchen, making coffee for himself and tea for Taehyung. Early sunlight stole through the window slats as Taehyung sat down at the table, still a little fuzzy at the edges.
"Hey," he said. "You're still here."
Jimin smiled with his mouth. He pushed the tea mug across the table toward Taehyung. "The longest time I've ever stayed in any one earth was two months," he intoned. "I've been here for about fifteen days. There might still be time for us."
There might, Taehyung thought, holding the steaming mug between his palms. Time for the two of them to exist in their own world, to relish the small joys: sunny seaside weather, leaning in for a kiss followed by the sweetness of soft, welcoming lips. And, who knew, Jimin might stay here for longer than two months.
"How can you tell when you're about to move on to the next earth?"
Jimin took the seat across from him. "I can't," he said quietly. "I'll just be—gone. No longer here. It usually happens when I'm alone, so you'd only find out about it later."
Taehyung stared down at his mug, trying to hide the tense set of his jaw. Jimin raised his own mug, perhaps to fill his head with the fragrance of coffee. When he spoke again, his voice was a little strained.
"I'm sorry."
Why should you be? None of this is your fault. And we did agree to make the most of your time here. But Taehyung kept the reply to himself, not wanting to be repetitive.
"The curse will never be lifted?" he murmured, already suspecting that he was wasting his breath. His eyes searched Jimin's face—for a glimmer of hope, of anything. "No chance it's going to stop any time soon?"
A muscle twitched on Jimin's cheek. "Not unless the magician dies first."
The sentence hung in the air between them like traces of gasoline stench. Taehyung felt like apologizing in return, futile though he knew that would be. Jimin was right: neither of them was at fault, which somehow made Taehyung sadder.
*
It had been yet another breezy evening when the stars began to fall.
Taehyung had just finished his writing task of the day: chapter twelve of his manuscript, which was to become the final book of his current duology. He tried not to think of this part as the soggy middle, as other writers called it, although the thought cheerfully persisted. Working on a novel was most exciting at the beginning, when the possibilities seemed endless. Halfway through the writing, the story lost most of its luster, and the road ahead looked way too long.
Well, I chose this path, so I'd better own up to it. This was a job like any other, with none of that If you love what you do, you will never work a day in your life crap. He forgot who said being a writer was like having homework for the rest of your life, but he agreed wholeheartedly with the sentiment. Sentiment? No, just a cold, hard fact.
Taehyung was shutting down his laptop when he saw the falling stars from the window. For a moment he simply sat there, stunned. Then he leaped off the chair and rushed out of the door, phone in hand.
The cabin was located on a secluded strip of beach, with an expanse of sand between it and the road. Across the road were inns and houses, some of which were also for rent. This evening the road was empty, with no vehicles passing by. At this age of constant constructions and land repurposing, the cabin's isolation had always struck Taehyung as miraculous.
That isolation had been the very reason he chose to rent the cabin. Besides being a romantic, he worked best in a quiet environment, white noise optional. Having researched the cabin's history, Taehyung found no mention of previous guests being murdered, for which he was thankful.
Living side by side with ghosts in a remote cabin can be highly inspirational for your future novels, Yoongi, his editor, had deadpanned. Great, Taehyung retorted, you try it, then tell me how that goes.
Now he stood in front of the cabin, mesmerized. Above the darkening sea, the sky had grown brighter. Stars—hundreds of them, it seemed—were out and blazing. Their sheer brilliance hurt Taehyung's eyes, but he was unable to look away.
Whoa! he marveled. Has there been any news about this? Did I miss it because I've been too busy typing?
Five of those stars were moving downward, each descending on a curved track. The sight was so fairy tale-like that Taehyung grinned happily to himself, and started recording it on his phone. Might these be actually meteors? No, they are stars, I'm sure of it.
Then, halfway down, some of the stars stopped moving. Others continued to descend before they, too, seemed to lose traction and stopped. Yet Taehyung kept recording, in case the stars started moving again.
Why were they falling like that? Is this the end of the world? Perhaps soon the earth and sky would crack open. He waited, but nothing of the sort happened. When it was obvious no more stars would fall, Taehyung stopped recording.
He backtracked toward the porch, then saw that he was no longer alone on the beach.
About five meters to his right was a person. They were lying on their side on the sand, inert and barefoot, their back to Taehyung. The person's clothes—a long-sleeved shirt and trousers—were loose, white, and in tatters.
Taehyung stood frozen in place. He clutched at his phone, his mind in a whirl; he could have sworn the beach was empty ten seconds ago. Taehyung peered toward the sea, but could detect no traces of a smashed boat. No splintered pieces of wood either, or any other object that might have kept the white-clad person afloat on the water. It was as if they had emerged from the sand.
Cautiously, Taehyung inched toward the stranger. Tattered as the clothes were, they might still hide ghastly bruises. The person could also be suffering from internal injuries—the sort that required immediate medical treatment.
"Hey," he ventured. "Hey, are you hurt?"
The stranger's hair rippled slightly in the wind. Yet another odd thing: if the stranger had been washed ashore, it should have happened hours ago since their whole body was completely dry. Had they been walking here from, for instance, a nearby inn, and then collapsed? But Taehyung had only noticed them now. He hadn't been that occupied with the falling stars, had he?
That was when the stranger uttered a groan.
Taehyung nearly jumped, then relaxed. The sound didn't seem to be one of pain, which encouraged him. He inched closer toward the stranger, then around them.
He was now standing in front of the stranger, with a full of view of their face. The stranger was a young man in his mid-twenties. His eyes were closed, and he was taking rapid, shallow breaths. On his exposed arms were a few light scrapes.
Just then the young man's eyes fluttered open. His breathing grew deeper and his gaze was gradually focused on Taehyung. In the dim light, the whites of his eyes looked almost as bright as stars.
"Hey," Taehyung said again.
The young man's eyes moved to the left and right. It seemed to dawn on him that he was on a beach. When he looked at Taehyung again, his brow was knitted in an unspoken question.
"We're near my cabin," Taehyung replied; a longer answer could wait. "How are you feeling?"
In response, the young man struggled to rise. Taehyung didn't offer any assistance, and only watched him anxiously. Having propped himself on one elbow, the young man whispered.
"My name is Jimin." He spoke with a quiet vehemence, as though worried that Taehyung might refute him. "Park Jimin."
"Okay. Where are you from?"
"Busan—" Jimin began, then flinched. Drawing in a ragged breath, he rose to a sitting position. "I'm from Busan."
He said nothing more, and Taehyung didn't probe. "Should we get you to a hospital?"
"No. I'm not hurt. A lot of rest is all I need."
Again the vehemence, with which Taehyung didn't feel inclined to argue. "In case you're interested, my cabin has a bed and clean water in it. You can rest there. After you feel better, we decide what to do."
Jimin watched him carefully. "Aren't you scared? I might be a serial killer or, at the very least, a robber."
Taehyung shook his head. Later, he might regret trusting a complete stranger. For now, he chose to go with his instinct, which told him Jimin needed help and was not going to repay it with viciousness.
"If I were in your shoes, I'd want someone to help me, too," he said. "No questions until I'm ready."
He smiled. After a while, Jimin gave a slow nod. Taehyung held out a hand to help Jimin get to his feet, thinking that Jimin's inexplicable presence was more of a fairy tale than the falling stars.
*
If I had to choose just one day, Nat King Cole sang, to last my whole life through.... It was a question Taehyung wouldn't have been able to answer. He wanted to live through each and every day with Jimin, over and over again—once more drowning in each laughter, each sweep of fingertips across heated skin. They were made to find each other, which he also accepted as another cold, hard fact, with all the happiness and sorrow it entailed.
*
After they had gotten into the cabin, Jimin politely asked if he could take a shower first. Taehyung handed him one of his pajama sets, then directed him to the bathroom. Jimin moved freely without wincing in pain even once; Taehyung took this as a sign that he had no internal injuries.
When Taehyung later went to the bedroom, Jimin was already sitting on the bed. On seeing Taehyung, he shyly ducked his head. The pajama set was a size too big for him, making him look deceptively—and endearingly—smaller.
"Sorry to be imposing myself on you," he murmured.
Taehyung sat down on the other side of the bed. "Don't be. I just need you to be honest with me. For one thing, Busan's a long way from here."
"My story's longer than that."
"Then let's start with the basics. How did you get here?"
Jimin pursed his mouth—his full-lipped, distracting mouth. Taehyung's gaze kept straying to it before he caught himself and looked at Jimin's eyes. Which were both alert and gentle, the most beautiful eyes Taehyung had ever seen.
He is the most beautiful person I have ever met. And he seems to have fallen out of the sky. An angel, or an incubus in disguise?
"Long story," Jimin repeated. "Worse, you might not believe it."
Dragging his mind off those eyes and mouth, Taehyung replied, "Try me. I write stories about time travel and necromancers for a living. I can believe just about anything."
"Not anything, surely."
"Well, why don't we find out?"
There was a pause. To Taehyung, it was filled with a sense of unsteadiness, as if the ground was about to shift beneath them. Then Jimin murmured, "I am not from this earth."
Taehyung stared at him. "O—kay?" was all he could come up with.
Jimin turned to his left in order to fully face Taehyung. He frowned, looking both hesitant and determined. Then, haltingly, he began to tell Taehyung about the magician.
*
He explained that there were countless earths in existence. All of them mirrored each other in various ways. While there might be other Park Jimins in some of these earths, he was yet to meet any of them. For the past year, Jimin had been thrown from earth to earth against his will—thanks to a curse.
"Once, I got very sick," he said. "Worked too hard for too many hours at the garment factory, while also helping out my father at his woodcarving workshop. Then, one morning, I couldn't get out of bed. I was barely conscious, sometimes barely breathing."
Jimin's gaze was faraway, his voice tinged with bitterness.
"The village doctor said the only possible cure was honeyweeds. The only person who lived nearby and grew it in his garden was a magician. Who was not the friendliest or most generous person."
The magician had moved into the outskirts of the village three years prior. He kept to himself, making vague threats at villagers who came near his mansion. Jimin's father was afraid of the magician, but it was nothing compared to his fear that Jimin might die.
One night, he sneaked into the magician's garden and stole some of the honeyweeds. At home, he cooked it into a soup and fed it to Jimin. After three days, Jimin completely recovered, to his father's joy.
The magician found out who stole his honeyweeds by intimidating eyewitnesses. He had lived long enough to cultivate contempt for humans who did not share his abilities and knowledge. The thought that one of those humans had deemed him insignificant enough to steal from was not to be borne.
Furious, the magician marched into the village. Standing in front of Jimin's house, he pronounced a curse. His father was the one who heard it since Jimin wasn't home.
Starting from your son's twenty-third birthday, the magician declared, he will be transported to other earths, over and over again. He shall wander, uprooted and helpless, and may never come home to his family.
Jimin's father felt as though his blood had been drained out of him. His pleas for the magician's mercy, however, were ignored. The next day, when Jimin's father went to the magician's mansion, it was empty. The magician had gone elsewhere, never to return.
On the morning of Jimin's twenty-third birthday, he was awakened by a thunderous boom. He found himself sprawled on a riverbank, in a place he had never seen before. The sky was boiling with smoke; the reek of what he would later identify as gunpowder suffused the air. Somewhere nearby, a young girl laughed with triumph.
This was how his wandering began: in a world torn asunder by a murderous rage born of rampant and bigoted superstitions.
Jimin spent his time there helping the medics, in return for lodging and what food there was. Some nights, he cried himself to sleep, worried sick about his father. A month later, he woke up in yet another foreign riverbank.
Since then, he had been catapulted from earth to earth, always at the most unpredictable moments. He made a few friends only to lose them later. All he had left of these friends were shards of cherished memories. He kept these memories inside him, in the hope that their faint light might help keep the perpetual darkness at bay.
*
"I was angry," Jimin admitted. "At the magician, but mostly at myself. If only I'd taken better care of my health.... My father risked everything to have me cured, only to lose me in the end."
His hand clenched into a fist before he reluctantly opened it. The bitterness was back in his voice as he went on.
"Whenever I get transported to another earth, some of the stars visible from that earth will seem to be falling. I suppose it's like a notice or something. Every now and then, I'd land near people who turn out to be hostile. Then I'd have to search for a place to hide, in a world I've never been before. Things like that make me want to wish the most horrible things on the magician.
"My father.... He must be doing well. His loneliness, if he has it, doesn't eat into him. He keeps himself happy through work. He might even have found a special person, who loves him as much as he loves them. I have to believe that—I have to."
He spoke the last sentence in a rasp, then fell silent. Taehyung didn't budge, didn't interrupt. When it was clear that Jimin had nothing else to tell, at least for tonight, Taehyung got to his feet.
Jimin blinked at him. "Where are you going?"
"The living room. To sleep on the couch."
To Taehyung's surprise, Jimin smiled. "Why? I mean, this bed is large enough for two. You rent this cabin—you're not the one who's supposed to sleep in the living room."
He had a point. "Okay," Taehyung said. "I'll, uh, take this side of the bed."
"Do you kick people in your sleep?" Jimin asked, half teasingly, as Taehyung slipped under the covers.
"Never had anyone complain about that, so I guess not? If I'm wrong, I'll just move to the couch."
After that, they didn't speak again. Soon Jimin was snoring, a low, rhythmic sound. As Taehyung coasted into sleep, his mind did a quick recap of the past four hours.
He was sleeping next to a person who said that he came from a world where magicians cursed people. That Taehyung took it in stride was probably made easier by his job as a speculative fiction writer. And if Jimin lied—if he was just some kind of an imaginative freeloader? Taehyung didn't really mind, since he still trusted Jimin not to harm him.
Suddenly he was jerked awake by the sound of yelling. Taehyung's eyes flew open to find Jimin almost halfway out of the bed, chest heaving. Even in the darkness of the room, he looked pale. Alarmed, Taehyung turned on the table lamp on the nightstand.
"Jimin?"
Jimin's posture was rigid, almost defensive. He didn't even seem to have heard Taehyung. When Taehyung called his name again, Jimin sank back into bed, his movement sluggish and painful to watch.
"It's nothing," he muttered. "It was—I had a nightmare. About my father, and our village."
Taehyung, who had also had experiences with being awakened by nightmares, remembered the queasiness and disorientation. "Can I get you a glass of water? Do you want to talk about it?"
"No. No, thank you." Jimin sighed. Shakily, he wiped a hand across his face. "It was just a dream, it can't be real. I'll just go back to sleep now."
*
The next night, Jimin was plagued by another nightmare. This time Taehyung did get him a glass of water. When he returned to the bedroom, Jimin already seemed calmer. He took a sip, then put the glass on the nightstand.
In a hushed voice, he asked Taehyung for a favor: Please lend me your body heat. Which was an odd way of asking for a hug, but Taehyung wasn't about to question Jimin's diction. He obligingly put his arms around Jimin, borrowing his body heat as well—and secretly shaken by how much of a solace it was.
When was the last time he hugged someone for this long? Had he ever done so, or had someone do it to him?
His parents had died in a car crash when he was a baby. His grandmother, who had raised him ever since, hadn't been the hugging type—and, for some reason, neither were his close friends. When he was feeling down, they would stroke his back or hold his hand. His dates had been few and far between, rarely getting to the point where he and the other person ended up in bed together. There had been no prolonged hugging there, either.
Having someone in his arms, knowing they were both warm and safe, made a world of difference. Taehyung slept astonishingly well that night and, he could tell, so did Jimin.
I can get used to this, Taehyung mused, grieving a little that Jimin might not be around long enough for that to happen.
Two nights later, as they lay waiting for sleep, Taehyung turned his head toward Jimin. At the same time, Jimin looked at him out of the corner of his eye. When their gazes met, Jimin went a little pink.
Taehyung, he whispered, a bigger favor, if I may be so bold.
The use of formal language amused Taehyung. It made him feel like they were role-playing as noblemen trading imperial secrets. Ask away.
May I kiss you?
Taehyung said yes. He let Jimin kiss him, then gradually pleasure him further, in turns rough and tender. Afterward, he wept, worried at how he would cope after all this was over—and at what might happen to Jimin on the next earth.
*
The days rolled by. Taehyung spent them at his desk, working on the manuscript. As an editor, Yoongi rarely asked about his progress; he had always trusted Taehyung to report any progress on his own, and that it would be satisfactory. In appreciation of Yoongi's leniency and understanding, Taehyung never asked for deadline extensions.
Using Taehyung's phone, Jimin watched an array of things on the internet. After he got bored with staring at the screen, he meandered along the beach. Most of the time, the cabin remained pretty much isolated, with barely any tourist walking past—preserving the illusion of a hideaway.
Twenty days after his arrival, Jimin asked, "Do you suppose you'll write about me someday?"
Taehyung glanced up from the frying pan he was scrubbing on the sink. "About your—situation? Do you want me to?"
"Mmm." Jimin placed the clean bowls on the plate rack. "It's up to you, really. I'm not dictating what you should or shouldn't write."
Taehyung was yet to submit a proposal for his next project, but he was certain it wasn't going to be about Jimin's situation. I don't think I'd be able to do it, and Jimin, justice. All of this—what we have—is too large for words. Neither am I ready to share it with anyone. Maybe I never will be.
The next morning, he woke up to an empty bed.
He lay unmoving, numb all the way down to his toes. Something about the emptiness was different; it struck him as sinister, immutable. His hand trembled as he pressed it against the other side of the bed.
It was cold. Jimin had been gone for some time, probably right after Taehyung fell asleep. The room was filled with a loud, inescapable silence, and the ghostly scent of freesia, Jimin's favorite body wash scent.
He can't be gone. Not this soon. He's been here for barely a month—surely his stay on this earth can't be that short. Haven't we been meant to find each other?
A part of Taehyung's brain argued: No, he's still here—in the bathroom, or the kitchen. He just got up early, like he usually does. Yet Taehyung's guts knew that his brain was merely making up excuses.
They hadn't had time to say goodbye. It might not have even been in the cards for them. Was Taehyung wrong, and their meeting in fact meant so little in the grand scheme of things?
The digital clock on the nightstand told Taehyung it was 5.40 a.m. Already a new day—the first of many without Jimin. Taehyung had known this would happen, but learning that knowledge was like reading a theory in class. Having it actually happen was like being slammed against a wall.
Taehyung shuddered. Much as he loathed to linger on the bed, he didn't have the energy to go on with the day. The coldness from the mattress persisted on his skin, spread up his arm and into his heart.
Where was Jimin now? Adapting to yet another earth? Meeting new people, already putting Taehyung and their times together behind him? That was only right; he must do so in order to survive. Even as it meant Taehyung was dissolving into yet another memory, soon to be forgotten.
Taehyung's head fell back against the pillow, tears gathering in his eyes.
*
He dutifully finished the manuscript and went through the revision rounds. There were fewer of those than usual, which earned him an underlined 100 emoji from Yoongi. The book promotion schedule and his new contract gave him about two months of rest. He accepted this with no opinion one way or another.
The publishing house approved of his next project, a standalone. For an entire month, Taehyung constructed a detailed outline. He deliberately chose locations and professions he had never written about before, welcoming any and all reasons to spend more time on research—and fewer nights to dwell on Jimin.
He missed everything about those twenty days. Shopping for two, choosing the coffee flavors that Jimin might enjoy. Jimin's delicate voice, asking him about translations of his books to other languages. Shards of cherished memories, Jimin had called what he had stored within him, and now Taehyung understood why.
Whenever the stars were out in full force—which didn't happen all that often in Seoul—Taehyung took a picture of them. Once he posted the picture on Twitter: Thinking of the best days of my life. His readers asked whether those days had to do with his books or a person, and he thought to himself: Yes.
The sight of those stars always made him wonder on which earth they were falling. Jimin will be safe there. I have to believe that, like he believes his father is well. And I have to learn to let him go. Every meeting comes with a goodbye, after all.
In the midst of the book outlining, Kim Namjoon contacted Taehyung. They had had a casual date once; Taehyung had been impressed by both the person and the writer, who wrote the most devastatingly lovely prose. Namjoon asked if Taehyung was willing to go on another coffee date, and Taehyung accepted the offer.
When the dates became part of their routines, Namjoon said, "Taehyung-ah, I really like talking to you. About movies, ourselves, or just the latest publishing gossip. But this doesn't have to be exclusive or anything. We can stop if you're seeing someone else, or not enjoying the dates anymore."
Smiling, Taehyung patted Namjoon's arm. "Likewise. If you are seeing someone else, let me know."
The dates lasted for quite some time—until Taehyung started his next project, another duology. Namjoon met someone and fell in love with them. He graciously informed Taehyung, who heartily wished Namjoon all the happiness in the world.
*
On Taehyung's twenty-eighth birthday, Yoongi and a few other friends treated him to a dinner. Soju was generously poured, the steak was medium rare the way Taehyung liked it, the noodles were thick and spicy. One of his friends showed off her engagement ring, and grinned at everyone's congratulations.
They left the restaurant at around ten p.m. A flurry of snow had started to drift down; weather reports predicted a heavier fall tomorrow. Yoongi said, "See you at the next revision round," and Taehyung snorted at the very Yoongi-esque quip.
His apartment was more than half an hour away. Plenty of time for him to idly watch the city from the taxi window. Above Seoul, the sky was a uniform, slate gray. Stars supposedly looked clearer and brighter in winter, yet Taehyung saw almost none of them at the moment.
The city was its usual sleepless self, with every single building lit up. In the distance, the Namsan Seoul Tower rose against the night. Pedestrians were walking briskly to ward off the cold, which gave Taehyung an idea.
When his apartment complex was still fifty meters away, he told the taxi driver to stop and got out. A short walk might clear his head and tire him out faster; he was in no mood to stay awake. Tomorrow morning he would open Scrivener and tweak the scenes. Tonight, he preferred sleep, a pause in his reality.
Birthday blues, that's all. Every birthday reminded him that he was no closer to building a family of his own. After Namjoon, Taehyung's date partners had been vivacious, smart, and compassionate; in short, possessing all kinds of great qualities. But he had never seen himself spend the rest of life with any of them. They were wonderful people, just not for him.
He could already see himself thirty years from now: hair thin and silvery, perpetually bent over a laptop. Attending signings, conferences, and similar events, probably accompanied by a junior editor (unless Yoongi was too stubborn to let go of his job easily). That didn't sound so bad. Being alone was nothing new to him, after all.
The wrought iron gates of Taehyung's apartment complex were in sight. The rising wind stung his cheeks and nose. He picked up his pace; the heavier snowfall might arrive early, and he didn't want to risk being caught in the midst of it.
From behind him, a voice said, "Taehyung-ah."
Taehyung's heart plummeted. His feet faltered as the voice echoed all around him. A voice that had once been so familiar and—he almost didn't dare think of the word—beloved.
It can't be. It can't! That must be another person with a similar voice. I'm hearing things because of the wind. But they just said my name....
Shaking with both the cold and growing dread, Taehyung turned around. Jimin was standing behind him, dressed in two layers of duffel coats. His hair was longer than the last time Taehyung saw him. Yet everything else—the fall of black hair, the lush lips—was exactly the same as on their last night together.
Seeing Taehyung's incredulous expression, Jimin smiled. "It was winter, too, on the earth before this one. I was wearing these when I got transported here. Lucky, huh?"
"How—" Taehyung stammered. He vaguely suspected that he had become so drunk at the restaurant that he got unconscious and was now dreaming. "How are you on this earth again?"
Jimin's smile faded away. "I don't know." His voice was small, somewhat lost. "This has never happened before. I just—suddenly I found myself there."
He gestured at the sidewalk across the street.
"The first thing I saw was you getting out of the taxi. So I crossed the street and called you. If I'd been mistaken and that wasn't you.... but I knew I was right."
Taehyung's throat had gone dry. This is real. He is real. Jimin, his Jimin, was here again with him. Up there, beyond those gray clouds, were the stars falling as they had on that long-ago evening?
He closed his eyes, then opened them. Jimin remained standing before him. They were the only people on this side of the street; to Taehyung, this near-solitude felt like serendipity.
He took a stumbling step forward. "This is the first time you landed on the same earth twice?" he confirmed.
Jimin nodded, looking like he couldn't believe it himself.
"And each time, you landed near me."
"Yes," Jimin whispered, sounding dazed. "Each time. It's always.... you."
Tears rose to Taehyung's eyes, abrupt and searing. His throat, no longer dry, grew tight. He tried to swallow the tears, but one escaped and fell down his cheek.
If this was the universe's idea of a birthday gift, it couldn't have chosen a more heartrending one. He would embrace this gift, too, for however briefly it might last.
Taehyung reached for Jimin's—small and, yes, beloved—hand. He clasped it between his own, his chest aching, as more tears fell. Jimin didn't resist; if anything, he smiled once more.
"I'm glad," Taehyung murmured. "I'm so glad you're here. Welcome home, Jimin-ah."
*
They rang in the New Year by watching TV and snacking on, among other things, kimchi mandu and corndogs. Jimin especially loved the latter, so Taehyung enabled him by frying all the corndogs in the fridge. "They taste better with Coke," he announced, and Jimin applauded him for his superior taste.
From the previous earth, Jimin brought identification papers that somehow were also valid on this earth. Mirrored each other in various ways, he had said, which was another instance of serendipity. This one was too large for Taehyung to believe that it would last. However, he made no mention of this to Jimin, fearing that giving voice to the thought might turn out to be prophetic.
Jimin spent most of his time indoors, where he taught himself to create infographics and social media posts. He joked that he was now Taehyung's self-appointed personal assistant. Meanwhile, months went by, and the weather grew warmer.
As the snow thawed, Jimin theorized that the magician might already be dead. "That, or the curse has expired," he added. "Which means I might not get thrown to another earth ever again."
They were snuggled up in bed, inhaling the scent of each other's bare skin. Jimin's arm was looped securely around Taehyung's waist. The comforting weight of that arm, combined with the familiar sounds of traffic, settled on Taehyung's soul like a balm.
Taehyung digested Jimin's theory silently. "So you're stuck on this one."
"You make it sound like it's a bad thing."
"Well, it does mean that you can't go home to your father....."
Jimin said nothing. He didn't reply Being with you is enough, which would have been disrespectful to both Taehyung and the father who had adopted and lovingly raised him. Taehyung went quiet, letting Jimin process the possibility.
Four nights later, Taehyung was turning off the lights in the apartment. He went to the window to make sure it was latched shut. Then he happened to glance outside, and his blood ran cold: over the city, a star was moving downward on a curved track.
Heart pounding, not waiting to see more, he ran to the bedroom.
Jimin was putting on an old T-shirt and shorts, getting ready for bed. When Taehyung threw the door open, Jimin almost jumped. "What? What is it?"
Taehyung skidded to a halt. "A—a star fell," he mumbled, giddy with relief and confusion. "Just like when you landed on the beach. I thought that—that you were already gone—"
A heartbeat of a pause, then Jimin shook his head. "No," he said softly. He walked over to Taehyung, and cupped Taehyung's cheek with his palm. "Tae, I'm right here. With you. I haven't gone anywhere."
The touch, and Jimin's soothing voice, eased Taehyung's jangling nerves. Clasping his hand over Jimin's, he took long, deep breaths. "So why...."
Jimin's brow furrowed. "This is just a wild guess, and I have no proof. But maybe the curse has been transferred to another person."
"Transferred? Somebody else is being transported from earth to earth, instead of you?"
"Again, just a wild guess. I know almost nothing about how the magician's skills work. For all we know, he is dead and the curse has ended."
For a moment they stood like that, connected and content in each other's nearness. Taehyung wanted to go and see whether the star was still falling, but resisted the impulse; he was too frightened to leave Jimin's side. He also hoped that Jimin was wrong about the curse having been transferred to another person. It was a terrible fate that no one should endure.
"Whatever that falling star meant," he whispered, "it can wait." He tightened his clasp on Jimin's hand. "I love you, Jimin."
"I love you, too," Jimin replied. He laughed a little, and Taehyung's heart melted at the fondness in it. With his other hand, Jimin pulled Taehyung toward him, and kissed him on the lips. "I always will. Even if this is our last night together, I will never forget you."