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When Chanyeol was seven years old, he held onto his mother’s hand and watched her cry as his father got into the black, nondescript car that had parked outside of their house. Usually, his father would go to work in the family van and his goodbyes would be more cheery, less somber.

His father also usually came home from work at the end of the day, too. It was just another one of the small details that later in life, Chanyeol would kick himself for not recognizing. Maybe then he could have done something.

When Chanyeol was seven years old, his mother told him that his father was leaving and was never coming back. Chanyeol hadn’t cried, because his mother was already doing that and he didn’t want to make her more upset. But the sadness was there nonetheless, in the pit of his stomach, and he hadn’t been able to help but ask, “Why?”

His mother had just looked at him, watery smile on her face, and said,

“Your Daddy is a spaceman, Chanyeol. That’s what spacemen do.”

For a long time after that, Chanyeol resented his father for it. For choosing to be a spaceman. For choosing to go away and never come back.

In the third grade, Chanyeol’s class goes on a field-trip to the Museum of Space and Aviation. He’d felt a bit bad going home the week before with the permission slip, asking for ten dollars to cover the bus and the admissions fee; his mother never did appreciate being reminded of the past. But the whole class would be going and he did not want to be the kid left behind, to sit in for the day in another class, and be left out of the exciting stories that would be told the following day.

So here he is, on the bus with all twenty-five of his peers, on his way to a museum dedicated to the reason Parents Day is always especially awkward for him. It’s been a long time since he’d held any sort of grudge against the entirety of NASA and other Space-related organizations.

As they’re shuffled around the museum, following the outgoing, loud lady with the orange flag strapped to her back, Chanyeol looks with wide eyes at the models of spaceships and big, blown-up images of galaxies millions of light years away. Sees the way the stars are formed, big and bright and full of energy. Watches a mini-movie on the history of space exploration. Gets to try on one of the old spacesuits from years ago and marvels at the simplicity of the design, from a time when technology had not quite advanced to where it is now.

At the end of the trip, they all get to meet and talk to a real spaceman. Chanyeol can’t believe his eyes when they file into the room and sit properly with their legs crossed on the carpet. How could this be a spaceman? Spacemen don’t come back home. They go and they discover the secrets of the universe and trade their lives doing it.

When they’re allowed to ask questions, Chanyeol’s hand is the first one to shoot up in the air.

“Sir?” he asks, breathless with anticipation, “Sir, how did you get here?”

The spaceman lifts an eyebrow. “I’m not sure what you mean by that,” he replies.

“I mean, how did you get back here? Back to Earth. My dad,” he takes a quick breath, “my dad was a spaceman, too. When I was seven my mom told me he was a spaceman and that he wouldn’t ever come back because of it. So why are you here? Where is my dad?”

His teacher is looking at him funny; her mouth is turned down and her eyes look like they’re wet. The spaceman, too, is looking at him weird; there’s something in his eyes that in the third grade he can’t quite place. Later on, Chanyeol will realize that it was pity in that man’s eyes.

“Not all spacemen come home,” the man says gently, “Some have different jobs in space than I did.”

This answer is not enough for Chanyeol. “What kind of spaceman do you think my dad was?” he asks. “Maybe he’s not one of those spacemen. Maybe he will come home, like you did, but it might take longer.”

The astronaut looks back at him with old eyes. “Maybe,” is all he says.

Maybe is enough.

After that trip, Chanyeol becomes obsessed with Space and the stars and the galaxies and everything that he could see if he tilts his head up high enough on clear nights.

With hope, everything becomes brighter, more beautiful to him. The stars that had once shone so oppressively above him, a constant reminder of what his father had chosen over him, were now spectacular orbs of light; a reminder that even in the darkest of voids, light could shine through. The pictures in the books he took out of the library were magical, extraordinary, unbelievable. He can’t quite understand all of the words printed beneath him, doesn’t quite have the mind yet to grasp the complexities of physics, but this doesn’t perturb him. He has all the time in the world to learn what they mean.

Chanyeol, in the middle of the third grade, resolves to become a spaceman, just like his father. His father that would come home, eventually. He would go to space and learn everything that he could, enough for himself and his father, and then they could come home together. Maybe then his mother wouldn’t be so sad all the time.

His mother watches him reading the books, watching the documentaries on TV, with sad eyes. She doesn’t say anything because she recognizes the sparkle in her son’s eyes, the same sparkle that she’d become so accustomed to seeing in her husband’s eyes, the same kind of sparkle she sees when she looks up at the night sky and remembers.

In high school, Chanyeol is a towering six foot one, more legs than muscle, and doesn’t have a single friend to call his own.

It’s not because he’s particularly unattractive. In fact, he’s been propositioned a few times over the years by girls he would consider both below and above his league. A couple of guys, too, in their awkward, unsure, barely comfortable with their sexuality kind of way. Chanyeol is flattered in both cases but has never once accepted any of the offers of a movie, maybe dinner afterwards.

It’s not because he’s mean or unpleasant to be with. He’s had plenty of satisfactory lab partnerships that have been perfectly civil. He’s had to endure countless group presentations and had managed to pull through each time in the end. He doesn’t have enemies or people he treats particularly in a different way.

It’s probably because most of the time, Chanyeol’s nose is too far stuck in a book about string theory or the birth of a star to pay much attention to his peers.

His mother asks about it, sometimes.

“Why don’t you have any friends over, honey?” she’d ask as they’re eating dinner together in the evening. She’s long since given up on the “no books at the table” rule, and Chanyeol makes a noise of surprise as he’s drawn out of his readings.

“I don’t know,” he’d answer blithely. “I don’t really—” He doesn’t finish his sentence. His mother is older now, more lines on her face; he doesn’t want to burden her with the knowledge that her only son has no friends. He’s not that unperceptive. “I like spending time with you at home,” he says instead. “I see them all the time in the morning.”

His mother nods and lets Chanyeol go back to reading. Her son never quite catches the sad understanding in her eyes, the knowledge that Chanyeol’s never even mentioned the existence of friends outside of her gentle interrogations.

Frankly, though, Chanyeol doesn’t particularly have a problem with having no friends. He’s seen it in his classmates enough to recognize the benefits, the good things. But he’s managed so far without friends just fine. There’s an effort to be had with friends, there’s a consideration for them that he knows would get in the way of his studying.

A little part of him also doesn’t want to have to leave more people behind than he absolutely has to when he goes on the mission. Just in case.

It’s the reason why he is ambivalent when he’s assigned a partner for his science class. The space unit, ironically. Chanyeol wants to roll his eyes because the assignment is pitifully basic: choose your favourite aspect of space and make a presentation out of it. He’s known all along that his teacher isn’t a fan of the space unit, that he teaches the subject because it’s in the curriculum and not out of personal interest. He understands, because his teacher majored in chemistry in college, not cosmology, and is probably only as learned on the subject as what is written in the textbooks assigned by the school.

His partner is Kim Jongdae, one of the boys he’s had classes with since elementary school but had never really talked to. He knows a bit about the guy anyway; it’s hard not to when Kim Jongdae is one of the loud, effervescent types that actually volunteers information when the teachers ask for it. He’s friends with the equally loud Byun Baekhyun who likes to talk to the teachers, too, except Baekhyun’s words are more mouthy, less instructional. He’s one of the art types, the ones he’s never really understood for their passion in things unable to be taught. Music, visual arts, drama. Jongdae’d even tried dance, once, at one of those school talent shows that they’d all been required to attend. That one hadn’t gone over so well, but they’d all clapped in respect at how utterly he had owned it.

Kim Jongdae is the short, sharp-cheekboned, curly haired boy that doesn’t have to be asked to plop into the seat beside him, books smacking onto the desk as he lets them drop, and say, “So you’re the Space guy.”

Chanyeol blinks. “What?” he asks, the word sounding hideously dumb in his ears.

“The Space guy,” Jongdae repeats, nodding his head towards the book in Chanyeol’s hands. “Like, you’re actually into all of this galaxy, stars, and gravitational pull shit.”

“You’re not?” The words come out just a tad bit more defensive than he would have liked, and he can’t help the way he pulls his book closer to his chest.

“Hey, I didn’t say that,” Jongdae protests. “I’m just saying you’re probably better at all of this than I am. So that makes you the captain. Of this spaceship.” His lips twitch with the effort of not laughing.

“It’s really more of a team thing, spaceship-wise,” Chanyeol says, unsure because he doesn’t really get the joke.

“Well then, I guess we’d better get to work then,” Jongdae says, shrugging. “Partner.”

The library is as good a place as any for project work, in Chanyeol’s opinion. It’s quiet, has great resources, and the librarian likes him enough to let him borrow more than the maximum of five books at a time. It’s also free of most of the distractions of the study rooms that the school provides; to most high schoolers, study period is a time to catch an extra hour of sleep, chatter about the next big social event, or relieve excess energy by trying to one-up each by causing the biggest scene possible without getting detention.

The library, unfortunately, happens to be Jongdae’s <i>least</i> favourite place in the school.

“This is boring,” he mutters into the enormous encyclopedia propped up in front of him. “You know we have iPads now, right? Technology. Books are gonna become obsolete in ten years, I swear it--”

“The teacher told us we needed three paper references,” Chanyeol sighs. It’s always like this; the first couple of hours are always fine, but after that point Jongdae gets antsy. “At least.”

Jongdae casts a weary look at the stacks of books around him. “I reckon we’ve got more than three here. Can’t we just cite them and move on to the internet? He’s not gonna check them.”

Chanyeol gives him a severe look. “My academic integrity is worth more than whatever time you think you’re wasting here instead of playing Call of Duty on your computer at home,” he sniffs.

“No one plays CoD anymore,” is Jongdae’s response. He sighs into the encyclopedia. “Don’t you know all of this stuff, anyway?” he asks, slouching into his seat and watching Chanyeol studiously copy notes into his ratty notebook.

“... Kind of.” Chanyeol’s cheeks pinken a bit at the self-flattery. “But there’s always more to learn,” he tacks on hastily.

“Well, I don’t know any of this stuff,” Jongdae huffs, “and reading these articles give me a headache. I’m not smart like you; I don’t get the vocabulary or whatever.”

Chanyeol definitely blushes at this. “I’m not,” he protests, “I just… read a lot. And at least you can draw and sing and create stuff. There’s a talent in that. You don’t get prizes for reading tons of books.”

“Self-deprecation doesn’t suit you, Chanyeol,” Jongdae says, chiding but laughing to soften the blow. “Only Joonmyun is allowed to be that annoyingly humble.”

Kim Joonmyun is class president and head of, well, most organized activities at the school. He also manages to maintain top grades and volunteer on the weekends. Joonmyun is a prodigy and also one of Jongdae’s friends.

Chanyeol fidgets with the pen in his hand. “I’m sorry,” he says, staring at the text in front of him. Social blunders are a norm for him and he’s never been good with recovering from them afterwards.

Jongdae watches Chanyeol try to reimmerse himself in the article, notices the nervous foot tapping underneath the table. “Hey, can you explain this to me?” he asks, shoving the encylopedia over to Chanyeol unceremoniously. “I don’t get what this redshift thingy is.”

This seems to cheer Chanyeol up, in more comfortable grounds. “Oh,” he says, straightening in his seat and peering closer at the text. “It’s this concept, not really one we’re going to use for our project, but as it pertains to cosmology - well, it’s the idea that as light travels farther away, its wavelength is increased. Which is why it’s called redshift, because a longer wavelength, at least in the visible spectrum of light, is closer to the colour red. Kind of like the Doppler effect.”

Chanyeol looks up to catch Jongdae staring. “I’m sorry,” he apologizes, “I’m probably not explaining this well. I’m not…” He shrugs helplessly. “I’m not used to this sort of thing.”

“No, no, you’re doing fine,” Jongdae reassures. Chanyeol looks unconvinced. “I got most of it. Doppler effect, like the ambulance siren thing we did in class, right?”

“Yeah.” Chanyeol hesitates, but there’s encouragement in Jongdae’s eyes. “So it’s saying here that because the universe is constantly expanding, we should see redshift from far away light sources since they’re always moving further and further away, and it should correspond to the rate at which they’re moving away.”

Chanyeol doesn’t notice the way Jongdae is staring as he rambles on about recessional velocity and peculiar motions. Jongdae’s good at this, at keeping up a conversation, at asking small, leading questions. He uses the time in between to listen, to watch the animation on Chanyeol’s face that he’s never seen before, to see the way Chanyeol likes to use his hands to explain things. It’s the same kind of passion he’s seen in Kim Jongin when he sits in on dance practices, or his parents when they sing with each other after they think he’s gone to bed. The sight is a little entrancing, and he doesn’t even notice that Chanyeol’s stopped talking until it’s <i>Chanyeol</i> staring at <i>him</i> as well.

“Tell me about this now,” Jongdae says hastily, pointing to the next big word he sees in the passage. Chanyeol gapes, perplexed, but does so with ease, the words falling out of his mouth with experienced ease.

The library suddenly doesn’t seem like that bad a place to work any more.

When Chanyeol first takes Jongdae home with him, he doesn’t understand why his mother is so happy about it, or why he’s suddenly allowed to bring snacks upstairs with him into his bedroom.

He doesn’t understand a lot of things, like why Jongdae lingers in the living room, eyes sweeping over the old family portraits and the wall of various awards and achievements his father had been given over the years.

“Mrs. Park, you have a lovely home,” he says, and Chanyeol’s mother blushes, pleased.

Chanyeol looks at the way his mother is smiling and he thinks it’s nice to see her happy. He hasn’t seen her look this happy in a long time; not this free, unrestrained joy that lights up her face and reminds him of the way she’d looked when he was still young.

“Well, thank you, Jongdae; you’re such a sweet boy,” his mother flutters, ushering them up the stairs. “Have fun working on your project, boys.”

Jongdae nods and grins, “We will, thank you.”

Chanyeol’s never brought anyone home before, but maybe he could bring Jongdae more.

Chanyeol’s room is spacious, but isn’t designed to have company over. His desk is overflowing with textbooks and looseleafs, and the bookshelf that spans one length of his room is crammed with even more books; enough that the whole place looks like it could go up in flames at any moment. Chanyeol is flustered for a moment, excusing himself quickly to go find a chair to pull up for Jongdae, not having thought this part through. It had been on a whim, this session, as the deadline grew closer and the library closed earlier.

But when he comes back he finds Jongdae already settled on his bed, legs in the air and a pencil twirling in his fingers as he waits for Chanyeol.

“Your bed looked more comfortable,” Jongdae says in explanation, shrugging and patting the space next to him. Inviting Chanyeol to his own bed.

Chanyeol’s had lab partners before but Jongdae’s nothing like anyone he’s ever been with.

“There’s an application portion of the assignment,” Chanyeol says, after the expectant look on Jongdae’s face has him overcoming his initial reluctance. He, unlike Jongdae, isn’t lounging but sat rather stiffly on the edge of the bed. “We’ve got the theory parts down but I have no idea what to do for that part. I’m no good with my hands.”

Jongdae shrugs, “I am. Maybe we could design something? Like a spaceship or something.”

“That sounds like a lot to do in a short period of time,” Chanyeol says, unconvinced. “Maybe something smaller, simpler.”

Jongdae picks up a pencil, pulls a sheet of A4 paper closer to him and starts sketching; long, quick strokes that blossom under his focused eyes. “A space suit, then,” he suggests, and Chanyeol can already see the basic shape already coming together.

Chanyeol, secretly, had always been a little jealous of people like this. People who can pull ideas from out of their minds and put them to paper, bring them to life. It was all fine for him with his books and his theory; it would help him interpret data later on. An explorer, maybe, but never a creator.

Jongdae makes it seem so easy. He, with his easy smiles and the way his hand moves almost enchantingly over the paper. He, who doesn’t mind so much when Chanyeol just lets him talk, filling the silence.

“It doesn’t look too bad, does it? I think it looks pretty cool, myself. Of course, we’ll need your expertise to get the final design down…”

Chanyeol snaps out of his reverie to see Jongdae looking expectantly at him, holding out his sketch. Chanyeol blinks, surprised to hear the almost unsure hesitation in Jongdae’s voice, the hopeful smile playing on Jongdae’s lips.

He has to look down to keep himself from flushing at the attention, scanning the rough drawing of a spacesuit that looks like it had come out of a Hollywood blockbuster. Smiling at him, why does Jongdae always have to smile like that? He isn’t doing anything worth smiling for. Chanyeol is used to disinterest in the eyes of his peers, maybe some jeering.

Not… whatever Jongdae is doing.

“Well, this would be good if we didn’t care about surviving,” Chanyeol mumbles. Jongdae’s startled laugh has him looking up and something warm rushes through him as he takes in the sight of Jongdae, with his eyes squeezed shut and lips curled upwards in mirth.

“Too bad I think the teacher would,” Jongdae says, still amused as he twirls the pencil around in his fingers. Chanyeol gets distracted by the movement of his fingers. “Alright, then, space geek, how do I fix it.”

Chanyeol is used to the teasing nicknames, but for some reason the way Jongdae says it doesn’t bother him.

He takes a second look at the drawing, quickly assessing the issues he can see right off the bat, pointing them out to Jongdae. It’s surprising how well they work together; Chanyeol’s hesitant guidance doesn’t hinder Jongdae’s ability to interpret the words onto paper.

Although, “Not so flashy,” Chanyeol groans, unable to help the exasperated smile on his face as Jongdae adds flourishes to the suit that he’s sure are more for aesthetic purposes than for practical use.

“Why not?” Jongdae demands, adding another swirl for good measure. “You’ve got the brains, I’ve got the style, Chanyeol. It works out.” He nudges Chanyeol with his shoulder, quirking an eyebrow up as he grins and says, “Dream big, right?”

And alright, Chanyeol’s got to admit, it does look pretty cool, but he’s not even thinking about that as he agrees. “Yeah,” he breathes, still stuck on the way Jongdae’s eyes look like crescent moons when he smiles. “Dream big.”

They end up acing the project, as they’d expected. Besides the couple of kids that actually cared about getting good marks, they are the only ones who looked like they’d put any kind of effort into the project.

Chanyeol feels so, so good as he listens to Jongdae present his half of the project to the class, hearing him talk about things that Chanyeol had taught him with confidence and ease. He knows he hasn’t miraculously converted Jongdae into a space enthusiast like himself, but to know that Jongdae had been paying attention at all was oddly comforting.

The thing that was most odd, however, was the way Jongdae had stuck around afterwards.

Chanyeol is used to being alone, prefers it most of the time so he can focus on his studies. And although he is pleasant enough with peers during groupwork, he’s never made any effort to extend himself beyond acquaintanceship with any of them.

Jongdae hadn’t been an exception. After the project was over, Chanyeol hadn’t continued to make plans with him, even though he’d gotten along with Jongdae better than probably anyone he’s ever met before.

But for some reason, this had never perturbed Jongdae, nor had it deterred him from setting down his brown paper bag with a plop at Chanyeol’s lunch table, making himself comfortable beside Chanyeol. It was never a bother for him to sit in amiable silence as Chanyeol absorbed himself in another one of his thick textbooks, and he always seemed to be up for listening as Chanyeol would explain to him whatever exciting thing he’d read online that morning.

And Chanyeol finds himself not minding the company at all. It isn’t like his normal interactions with the other schoolchildren; there isn’t any self-consciousness, or need for meaningless small talk in order to fill up awkward silences. In fact, Jongdae’s snickering as he rambles on about the misbehavior his friends get up to in class is rather enjoyable. He doesn’t mind so much when he gets distracted from his readings because he’s laughing so hard at one of Jongdae’s jokes.

It’s gratifying to have someone make the effort, even if it looks like to Jongdae no effort at all. He’s never had someone so determined befriend him. It’s this, coupled with the fact that Chanyeol is beginning to think he might want Jongdae to stay even more desperately, if only because of the way Jongdae looks at him sometimes, that makes Chanyeol wary.

Despite his hesitance, however, he still manages to find himself passing through the years like this, Jongdae a constant presence by his side.

There were the clear nights, the ones where Chanyeol calls Jongdae at midnight and tells him to get ready, that the stars would be beautiful, that they just had to look for this constellation. Chanyeol packs the expensive telescope Jongdae had bought him for his sixteenth birthday into the back of his truck and drives to Jongdae’s house (he’d ended up visiting more often than he’d anticipated) to pick him up.

Jongdae lies on the grass and uses his eyes to stare up at the night sky while Chanyeol crouches in front of the telescope instead. There are fast food wrappers littered around them, and whatever new music obsession of Jongdae’s playing on the tinny speakers of his phone. Jongdae likes to tease Chanyeol for only being good at books and not at working the tiny knobs on the telescope, coos at the embarrassed flush on Chanyeol’s face when he needs help finding the Big Dipper of all things.

There are the meals they share at Chanyeol’s home, the dinners that Jongdae is always invited to, at the insistence of Chanyeol’s mother. It’s less awkward than Chanyeol would’ve thought, sitting at the dinner table and listening to Jongdae charm his mother with bright smiles and light conversation. Jongdae has his own spot next to Chanyeol now, and the way their feet sometimes knock into each other’s and the way Chanyeol’s mom is so much more joyful than before has Chanyeol enjoying these evenings more than he’d care to admit. It doesn’t even matter that his evening is taken up by chatter and dessert and coffee by the TV afterwards.

There is even that time that Chanyeol had – to his horror and utter disbelief – gotten kicked out of the library he spent most of his free time in, because he’d accidentally laughed too loudly at a passing complaint Jongdae had made about their geography teacher. The incident had been shocking to him and to the librarian, with whom he normally got on with very well; he had never been one of those kids.

He hadn’t spoken to Jongdae for almost a week afterwards, more unsettled than angry at his friend – yes, he had to admit it now, they were friends. The rigid rules he’d made for himself were becoming more and more forgotten the longer he spent with Jongdae; the focus on his dream of going into space and sending his father home was becoming lost.

He should have learned that Jongdae would not let go so easily.

A week after the incident, Chanyeol had let himself be dragged out to the library by Jongdae after having been cornered once the bell had rung for lunch. They were allowed back in now that the temporary suspension was over and Chanyeol had to admit that he’d kind of missed the place.

And of all his previous ire at Jongdae seemed to disappear the moment the librarian had told him his book had arrived. He hadn’t believed it; that textbook on aeronautics had had a waiting list of over a hundred people, there was no way it was his turn yet. But the librarian had passed the book to him, holding out a hand for his library card, and he couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face as he thumbed through the pages.

Jongdae congratulated him on his good luck, clapping him on the shoulder, and Chanyeol had missed the soft look in his friend’s eyes as he watched him. The way the librarian looked at Jongdae, though, told him that she probably hadn’t.

Chanyeol had asked Jongdae, once, why.

“Why are you my friend?” he’d asked, and it’s nothing accusatory. Closer to awed, disbelief, wonder. “Why do you like me so much?”

And Jongdae had looked at him, eyes uncharacteristically sharp as he’d replied, “Why do you ask?”

“It’s just…” he’d trailed off, hesitant and defensive. “It’s just that I don’t think you should be my friend. I don’t mean anything by you,” he blurted out as he watched hurt cross over Jongdae’s face. “I meant that I’m not good enough a friend for you. I’m always so distracted by books and studying and you don’t—you don’t have to stay if you don’t want to.”

Chanyeol had never been good at reading faces, but the look on Jongdae’s face was inscrutable anyway. “I don’t mind,” he’d said after a while. “I get that you’re just chasing your dream, your big fancy dream under all those books about math and science. I’m kind of jealous, in a sense. Mostly I just like being with you because I like the way you talk about the stars and space and all of that crazy stuff. Makes me feel like I’m a part of it, you know?”

And Jongdae had grinned then, the same, familiar one, and looked away. Chanyeol had been confused, then, by the tightness in his throat. “Look at us, being all sentimental,” Jongdae had said, chuckling, “Don’t overthink it, Chanyeol. I just like being with you, that’s all.”

Graduation comes bittersweet to Chanyeol as he opens up his mailbox in May to find three acceptance letters; one from each of the universities he’d applied to.

“Congratulations,” Jongdae enthuses as he catches sight of the opened letters on Chanyeol’s kitchen table; it’s become something of a routine for Jongdae to swing by Chanyeol’s house in the morning to accompany him to school. It’s on the way, he’d shrugged when Chanyeol had bashfully insisted that it wasn’t necessary. “Always knew you could do it.”

The embossed fonts and fancy lettering gives away how prestigious the schools are; from a glance, Jongdae can already tell that these are among the top of the country.

“Do you know where you want to go?” Jongdae asks after a beat, when Chanyeol only responds with a sheepish smile and a shrug.

“Not yet,” Chanyeol says, hesitation clear in his voice. “They’re all good schools, but.” He fidgets with the blazer of his school uniform, looking down. “Do you know where you’re going?” he asks instead.

It’s funny to Chanyeol, a little, how they’re going through the same conversation he’s heard buzzing around all of the other kids in his year. The anxiety, the excitement, the enviousness towards those who were admitted early.

It’s not as funny when he sees a familiar sort of insecurity on Jongdae’s face as he’s seen on countless of his peers’, the question of what do you want to do after high school? sounding more damning than people mean it to be.

“I don’t know,” Jongdae admits, face conflicted though he tries to mask it. It surprises Chanyeol to realize he can perceive that. “I just applied for general arts; I don’t even know what I want to do. Not like you,” he says with a rueful grin. “Must be nice, to have everything all figured out like that,” Jongdae continues, voice wistful.

Chanyeol doesn’t say anything about his father, or the circumstances that led up to his devotion in his life to becoming an astronaut, a spaceman. “I’m sure you’ll get in just fine,” Chanyeol says instead. “I’ve seen your portfolio. And I’ve heard you sing, I’ve seen you act. You excel in everything you do. There’s nothing about me to be jealous of, not when you’re so…” He trails off, unsure of how to finish his sentence. He isn’t Jongdae, who’s good with words, good at everything.

But Jongdae doesn’t seem to mind with the way he’s looking at Chanyeol. “I just… I just want people to be happy. Because of me,” he says eventually. Like being incredible isn’t enough, like he’s unsure. The idea is ridiculous to Chanyeol.

Chanyeol isn’t used to this. Isn’t used to seeing Jongdae doubt himself like this. It isn’t because he shies away from it, but because to Chanyeol, Jongdae is the most self-assured, confident, charismatic person he knows. Provided, he doesn’t know many people, but he’d never looked at Jongdae before and expected anything but laughter in his eyes and an easy grin on his lips.

To have Jongdae insecure is unsettling. To have Jongdae be insecure in front of him is astonishing, because it’s happened so rarely in the time that he’s known Jongdae. It’s usually Chanyeol, nervous over a test or stressing about applications for work-study programs, who allows himself to be weak in front of Jongdae, who lets himself be comforted by Jongdae’s reassuring words.

It’s enough that the words slip out unbidden, “Well, I’m happy. Because of you.”

He cuts himself off from saying anything more, mortified at how honest he’d been. Just as Jongdae’s vulnerability is new to him, so is revealing feelings he hadn’t even realized he felt. It feels ironic, that Chanyeol’s spent his whole life preparing to launch himself into the unknown, but that this, this small novelty has him hesitating.

It’s just that in space, Chanyeol is only responsible for himself. Responsibility for Jongdae is not something he’d expected and the weight of it settles heavily on his shoulders.

Chanyeol had vowed long ago, at the age of seven, never to need someone like he’d needed his father. He’d vowed long ago never to let anyone need him, either, in order to spare them the pain of being left behind.

But Chanyeol at seven years hadn’t known Jongdae, hadn’t anticipated the relentless force that is Jongdae that would come barging into his life, into his house, onto his bed with a pencil in his hand. Chanyeol at seven years old had only known that his father was leaving and not of this, the knowledge that his words could have such an acute impact on someone else.

And the way Jongdae is smiling at him so tremulously has Chanyeol thinking that perhaps it isn’t such a bad thing. That being responsible for bringing someone he cares so much about comfort, happiness is something that makes him happy too, wonders if this is how Jongdae does it as well. More than that, he thinks that maybe all of this isn’t as newfound as he’d believed.

“And besides,” Chanyeol continues after a pause, “if I’m going off into space, I’ve gotta let the fate of humanity rest in someone’s capable hands. I have faith in you.”

“So cheesy, Park Chanyeol; where did you learn that from?” Jongdae groans, rolling his eyes and elbowing Chanyeol. “Yes, okay, with your vote of confidence, I’ll be sure to hold down the world while you’re gone. Thank you very much.”

“I didn’t say that I’d let you do it all on your own,” Chanyeol teases, and just like that the tension is broken. They leave for school in better spirits, snickering about what a Jongdae-governed world would be like.

Chanyeol reveals to Jongdae after they’ve all tossed their graduation caps in the air and received their diplomas that he’s accepted the offer from the same school that Jongdae had accepted. Jongdae splutters and says something about you didn’t need to and Chanyeol, excitement and happiness thrumming through him as they welcome the next stage of their lives, doesn’t even pause when he says but I wanted to.

College is nothing like high school, but not necessarily in a bad way.

Chanyeol in college overloads his courses, taking far more than anyone else in his program, just because he’s already used to an immense work load. Unlike the rest of his freshman class, he has no problem keeping up with the new (and sometimes not new) material. It doesn’t mean that he isn’t working late into the night to keep up with homework and readings and lab reports, but his first year passes smoothly and with excellent grades.

He might not have made the close-knit group of friends that the others had during rush week, might not get invited to the typical college parties like the rest, but this had never been a problem before.

College, however, has Chanyeol seeing less and less of Jongdae, who becomes caught up in his own college experience, in his program, surrounded by people exactly like him. While he spends his evenings in his dorm room reading three chapters ahead, he gets texts from Jongdae about the play he’d just gone to see with his floormates, pictures of the singing group he’d joined going out for drinks after a performance. The messages bring smiles to Chanyeol’s face, the sight of his friend with glittering eyes and rosy cheeks and that same full grin making his nights that much more cheerful. He saves most of the pictures, and he doesn’t know why he does it, but he does.

He doesn’t get to miss Jongdae too much, however, because Jongdae’s never let anything get in the way of their friendship before; they still share the same campus, the same spotty wifi. He’s unable to resist texting Chanyeol in the middle of their lectures about the lame joke his professor had just cracked, even if it does make Chanyeol’s geophysics professor glare at him because he’s forgotten to mute his phone. He doesn’t buy Chanyeol’s excuses about having to study for midterms (they’re three weeks away, Chanyeol), shows up at his dorm room at unreasonable hours to drag him out to a twenty-four hour diner he’d found hidden away a couple blocks off campus. He lets Chanyeol bring his book, but Chanyeol finds he never manages to pick up where he left off once he’s seated with a heart-attack inducing bacon cheeseburger set in front of him and Jongdae talking at the speed of light about his classes, his friends, his hot TA, everything and anything that he might not have already gotten across in his texts.

“Be jealous, Park,” Jongdae says during one of these late night meetups, dropping into their usual booth with a satisfied smirk on his face. “I’m going to get to go to space before you and your textbooks will!” He sneers at the book on the heliocentric model that Chanyeol’s got tucked under his arm.

Chanyeol’s eyes widen. “What do you mean?” he demands, though the way Jongdae’s eyes are crinkled in pleasure have him smiling in anticipation.

“I’m going to be one of the leads in this space drama production my class is putting on,” Jongdae reveals, laughing. “Suho, full time fearless protector of the galaxy, part time shipboard Casanova.” He rolls his eyes and throws a fry at Chanyeol, who is snorting into his milkshake. “It’s all thanks to you anyway, Space Guy. Prof was so impressed by the fact that I understood half the words on the script he practically demanded I play him.”

Other times, it’s Chanyeol who finds himself craving Jongdae’s company, tired of the same silence of his dorm room after a couple of weeks where Jongdae’s been too busy rehearsing to pester him about going out. Chanyeol who texts Jongdae first, asks if he’s not too busy. Wonders if maybe Jongdae’s got enough spare time between practicing to come and see the Taurid meteor showers with him, or if he’d be willing to come with him on a trip out of town to check out this new museum that’s just opened up. For some reason, every single time Chanyeol sends one of these invitations, he becomes anxious the moment he sends the text, as if waiting for the day that Jongdae texts back with a no.

But no such day ever happens and Chanyeol can’t help the rush of relief that washes over him when he receives his reply, yesses and whens and can’t waits. And as they’re lying in the grass on a hill near the campus, a new telescope that Chanyeol had bought with his own money with a much better lens trained up at the sky, it almost feels like they’re back in high school, when it was easy, when they used to spend a lot more time together.

However, Chanyeol is not in high school any longer, and it shows with the way he’s finally levelled off at an impressive six foot three, voice deeper, chest broader, but still more limb than muscle and the same boyish handsomeness from his younger years. Chanyeol in college works to stay fit, because he’ll need to be at the top of his health if he wants to get picked for NASA’s basic training program. Chanyeol in college is older, more mature, and happens to meet Do Kyungsoo in one of his engineering courses, one of the few other students he’s ever met that is also interested in pursuing a career in Space.

“Not as an astronaut,” Kyungsoo had said with a faint smile. “Not tall enough for that.”

Chanyeol had laughed, nodding in agreement as he took in the much shorter, but still attractive guy in front of him.

Chanyeol is in college when he decides that perhaps it would be okay to deviate just a little from his focus on school and take Do Kyungsoo up on his no-strings-attached offer. After all, it’s all a part of staying healthy and normal development; in this day and age, it doesn’t have to mean anything. A convenient outlet for when assignments pile up and deadlines lined up for weeks, Chanyeol finds in Kyungsoo the perfect partner.

Usually, Chanyeol is a very attentive listener, but he can’t help but be distracted by Kyungsoo’s string of texts ranting about the mark he’d received for the paper they’d written two weeks ago, and his desire of meeting up soon to take his mind off of it.

Jongdae, who sits in front of him chewing on his burger, frowns at his friend.

“You know, I hardly ever get to see you as it is,” he says loudly, snapping Chanyeol back into the conversation. Chanyeol drops his phone onto the table with a clatter, pink staining his cheeks as he realizes what he’d been doing. “Your dirty little secret on the side can wait till later to keep sexting you,” he teases, kicking Chanyeol lightly on the shin to tell him he’s forgiven.

But Jongdae clearly doesn’t expect it when Chanyeol blushes even deeper, eyes widening. “How did you know?” Chanyeol blurts out, fingers suddenly tight around his phone. He hadn’t told Jongdae, he was certain of it - he hadn’t told anybody. He supposes, now, that maybe he should have, but the idea churns uncomfortably in his stomach.

“What?” Jongdae splutters, “you - you actually are with someone?” He accidentally knocks over his soda as he drops his food. He curses, jumping to his feet and grabbing the napkins on the table to try and mop up the drink that’s spreading across the table and onto the floor.

By the time they’ve got the attention of the waitress and the mess is cleaned up, they’re both more than aware of the uncomfortable silence between them. Jongdae doesn’t touch his burger again, and Chanyeol ignores the buzzing of his phone in his pocket.

“I just thought--”

“It isn’t like that--”

Jongdae falls silent, chewing on his lip as he stares at Chanyeol, clearly waiting for him to finish his sentence. The silence is stifling in a way silence usually never is for Chanyeol, because it’s never silent like this when he’s with Jongdae.

“Kyungsoo and I,” Chanyeol begins, hesitant and stuttering, “we’re not. Together. It’s just… something that we do. It doesn’t mean anything; we’re not even really friends, we just meet up sometimes, and.” He stops himself, realizing that he’s beginning to ramble.

“Kyungsoo? A boy?” Chanyeol can’t help but notice the way Jongdae is tearing his napkin into shreds. The expression on his face is closed off, and it bothers Chanyeol for reasons he doesn’t know. “I didn’t know--”

Chanyeol’s heart thuds in his chest. “That’s not a problem, is it?” he says helplessly, terrified of the response. “I know I never said anything to you, but I just. Never found the right time, I guess.”

“No, of course not, that’s not what I’m,” Jongdae takes a sharp breath before lifting his head to stare at Chanyeol. “I just never thought, never knew you wouldn’t, weren’t--” He trails off, and Chanyeol doesn’t understand the look in Jongdae’s eyes, something that looks like desperation, bewilderment.

“He doesn’t mean anything to me,” Chanyeol feels compelled to say, even though it shouldn’t matter either way, why does it matter?

“And I?” Jongdae says suddenly, “What am I to you?” The moment the words leave his mouth, he looks like he regrets them.

“You’re my best friend,” Chanyeol says numbly, unhesitatingly, anxious over how unsettled Jongdae seems. “Jongdae, you’re the only friend I’ve ever had. Kyungsoo’s just… somebody. I’m sorry if you’re upset that I didn’t tell you, I’m a horrible friend, but I swear I’m not keeping anything else from you.”

It seems to do the trick, because Jongdae lets out a long breath and sinks back into his seat at his words. Chanyeol is grateful to feel the tension dissipate, appeased to see the weak smile Jongdae pulls on his face.

“It’s alright, Chanyeol,” he says after a moment. “I don’t think you’re a horrible friend. And besides, I’m not your keeper. You don’t have to tell me everything.” But the words sound bitter to Chanyeol’s ears despite the consolement, and he’s reminded once again of how horrible he is at people, no matter how good he thought he was at Jongdae.

“But you do,” he blurts out, pausing before cautiously continuing, “... don’t you?” Something flickers in Jongdae’s eyes, too quick for Chanyeol to catch, before he nods, slowly. “Well then, I’d like to at least do you the same courtesy.”

Jongdae had nothing else to say to that besides, “Thank you, Chanyeol.”

Things go back to normal afterwards, or as much as they can with how often they actually get the chance to see one another. It isn’t avoidance, it’s Chanyeol working on a research project and Jongdae busy with production after production. But they make do, as they’ve always done, and Chanyeol never brings up Kyungsoo again.

It’s just another one of their nights, a walk along the river that snakes around the outermost boundary of campus to clear their minds. It’s a testament to their years old friendship that they walk close enough to accidentally bump shoulders now and then, and neither mention anything of it because this is them, this is comfortable, this is familiar.

Jongdae does most of the talking, as he usually does, and Chanyeol passes the time listening, laughing at the right moments - sometimes the wrong times, like when Jongdae recounts how he’d accidentally walked into the wrong lecture the other day and everyone had stared. Chanyeol likes it likes this, prefers to listen to his friend’s excited voice rising and falling as he tells his stories, likes the sound of Jongdae’s laughter.

“And then Joonmyun took me out to eat at this Indian restaurant afterwards; you should have seen his face, Chanyeol. Other qualities aside, the guy could not handle spicy food, it was hysterical.”

The name snaps Chanyeol out of the reverie he’d been in because it sounds familiar. Joonmyun. Chanyeol doesn’t know any of Jongdae’s friends, not really, had never found the time or the desire to meet them. Jongdae is enough, had always been enough.

Joonmyun. Joonmyun had been the boy from high school, the genius, the class president and valedictorian of their cohort at graduation. The image of a classically handsome Kim Joonmyun comes swimming into Chanyeol’s mind, always a kind smile and an excellent partner to work with for school projects.

Perfect Joonmyun is the guy Jongdae is talking about, must be. Chanyeol blinks and tears his eyes from where they’d been unconsciously trained on the way Jongdae’s lips curl up at the edges, pays more attention to the conversation they’re having.

“But I had a nice time anyway. He’s one of those old school gentleman types, you know? Paid for the movie and the food and everything. Tried to pull out my chair for me, but I wasn’t going to have that. He blushed, it was cute.” Jongdae continues on, unperturbed by Chanyeol’s silence, and besides he’s smiling off into the distance anyway. It’s a familiar smile, but usually it’s directed at Chanyeol, and the change throws him off even more than he already was.

“You’re dating Kim Joonmyun?” Chanyeol says, unable to help himself.

Jongdae stares at him, frowning. “That’s what I was just saying, Chanyeol,” he replies, voice tinged with… something. “I mean, it’s nothing serious, just a couple of dates here and there. He’s really busy, you know, school on top of a full-time internship at his dad’s company, but he’s never late. I’m kind of jealous of him, to be honest.” He smiles, shrugging.

“How come you didn’t tell me before?” Chanyeol asks, unable to process much besides Jongdae’s affirmation. His dinner from earlier suddenly doesn’t seem to be agreeing with him anymore, his stomach trying to send everything back up instead.

Jongdae looks up at him and he doesn’t understand it, whatever Jongdae’s trying to convey in those dark eyes of his. He’s not good at this, has never been good at this, but this is Jongdae.

This is Jongdae, and he can’t get the thought to unstick from his mind.

“Well, you’ve been busy with that project,” Jongdae says, slowly. “And I know how much time it takes, how much effort you put into it. I just figured you wouldn’t want to know.”

Chanyeol doesn’t like how much it sounds like an excuse to his ears. “Of course I would want to know,” he answers, eyebrows furrowing. And suddenly he notices how little they’ve been talking recently, how Jongdae had actually declined an offer of his to go to a special exhibit at their local air and space museum. He hadn’t thought much of it before because he’d been busy himself, could hardly expect Jongdae to drop everything for him when Chanyeol has to cancel half of the time himself.

But now he wonders and he hates this pang in his chest that he feels because why, why is he so upset about this. Upset over Kim Joonmyun and his perfect GPA and the way Jongdae isn’t smiling at him right now. It’s supposed to be easy, it’s not supposed to be like this, he isn’t supposed to be jealous of Kim Joonmyun.

Jealous of Kim Joonmyun.

“I’m sorry,” Jongdae apologizes. They’ve stopped walking now, and the sound of the running water from the river is the only thing they hear in the silence of the night. “I didn’t mean to keep it from you. And besides, I just figured you’d been busy with Kyungsoo anyway--”

“But that’s not the same,” Chanyeol interrupts, snaps. And Chanyeol never snaps. “Kyungsoo and I aren’t dating. We don’t - it’s not a thing.”

He hadn’t even been thinking of Kyungsoo.

“Why do you say that like there’s a problem that it is “a thing” with Joonmyun and I?” Jongdae shoots back, fists clenched at his sides. “Joonmyun is good for me, good to me. I’ve never had someone like him before, something like what we have,” he says, and it’s almost pleading.

The problem is that there isn’t a problem, Kim Joonmyun is perfect. Kim Joonmyun is smart and handsome and available and everything that Chanyeol isn’t, and the thought hurts more than it should, more than he would have expected. Kim Joonmyun is good for Jongdae and Chanyeol should be happy that his friend is happy, had looked so happy earlier talking about him. Jongdae who deserves this, deserves someone who will be around.

And since when had Chanyeol started thinking of Jongdae as his, in any sense of the word. Jongdae is so much more than Chanyeol’s, surely not enough to be worth much. Jongdae is popular, talented, has a life outside of him and sometimes he forgets that. But he doesn’t now.

“There isn’t,” Chanyeol says, and the words sound bleak. “I just. You’re my only friend, Jongdae, I’m not like you. And Joonmyun is good, good for you, and I just don’t want to lose what little hold I have over you. I know it’s stupid, I’m sorry Jongdae. I shouldn’t feel this way, I know.” He cuts himself off before the panic can completely overtake his voice, before the sob he inexplicably feels in the back of his throat can escape.

Jongdae looks at him with softest eyes, takes his hand.

“Chanyeol, he’s not -- God, he’s not replacing you,” and it doesn’t help that Jongdae sounds as affected as Chanyeol feels. “You and him, you two are different. It’s not the same, the way I feel about him isn’t the way I feel about you.”

The words are meant to comfort, surely, but Chanyeol wants to gasp at the pain that blossoms in his chest.

He’s supposed to be happy, god damnit. Not this, whatever this is. He’s supposed to be glad that Jongdae isn’t attached to him like that, whatever that is. It’ll be better this way.

Jongdae stares at him and he’s waiting for a response, Chanyeol can tell. He thinks about how he’s ruined the evening, almost ruined everything because he’s gotten too attached even after having promised to himself never to do so. Friends is one thing, best friends is another; Chanyeol is terrified to think of what anything more than that means.

“Then I’m glad,” Chanyeol manages. “I’m sorry I’m so insecure, Jongdae, I know I’m such a shitty friend. I don’t know what I was thinking, I --” He swallows, cutting himself off before he can say something he doesn’t mean to, “I’m happy for you, Jongdae. Joonmyun really is a great guy, after all.”

Nothing feels better as Jongdae looks away. “Thank you, Chanyeol,” he murmurs, staring at the ground. Chanyeol wishes he’d smile again. The stars don’t seem as bright anymore, as they reflect off the river, nothing like the way Jongdae’s eyes had shone when he’d been talking about Joonmyun.  “That means a lot to me.”

Chanyeol doesn’t quite know what to make of that.

It’s better like this, Chanyeol reminds himself as he ignores another one of Jongdae’s texts. It sounds false even to his own ears but he shoves the thought out of his mind, instead putting his phone on silent and re-concentrating on the readings he’s trying to finish.

He doesn’t know when he’d begun, but after that conversation with Jongdae by the riverside, he’d stopped responding to Jongdae’s texts as much. They’d left for their respective dorms afterwards and Chanyeol hadn’t been able to concentrate on his work at all once he’d gotten back. He isn’t behind, but it only serves to remind him of the focus he needs if he’s going to fulfill his dream.

He had never meant to do it like this, to cut Jongdae out like this, but he can’t let himself feel too bad about it. After all, Jongdae’s got Joonmyun now. It doesn’t matter that his stomach still twists whenever he thinks about them, doesn’t want to remember just how well Joonmyun treats Jongdae. It shouldn’t. He should be relieved that Jongdae had found someone actually deserving of him. Joonmyun can give him more than stories about galaxies older than humanity, than dreams.

Chanyeol thinks in a lot of shoulds but it doesn’t help how awful he feels when he lets himself think too hard anyway.

So he comes up with excuses when Jongdae asks him to come out, to go see a movie, to watch the play he’s in, to come with him to a concert being put on by the neighbouring school’s orchestra. He doesn’t ever lie, always finding things to do, and it’s not like this is anything new.

But then again he’s never felt this guilty about it, either.

Star gazing by himself is regular occurrence for him; he can hardly fault Jongdae in the past for not being able to stay up late into the night every time for him. He’s done it often enough, and it’s still enjoyable all the same. Sometimes he appreciates the silence, the stillness of the night as he sets up his telescope to find whatever phenomena it is he’s looking for.

He hadn’t asked Jongdae to come with him this time around, although he dearly wishes he could. The Taurid meteor shower would be a spectacular sight, and Chanyeol’s never had the opportunity, or the time, to see them himself before. Jongdae would have loved the fireballs, too, but he knows that tonight is the cast party for the play that Jongdae had just wrapped, a play he’d attended but hadn’t told Jongdae about. In The Heights had been amazing, and Jongdae even more so.

Besides, he’s not supposed to want to see Jongdae anyway. He reminds himself of this for what seems like the millionth time. It won’t be that bad being alone tonight.

And he’s so wrapped up in his star gazing and setting up that he doesn’t even notice it as Jongdae makes his way up the hill, so enthralled that he knocks his telescope completely off course as he jumps, shocked to hear Jongdae’s voice suddenly break through the silence.

“So pretty,” Jongdae enthuses brightly, right in Chanyeol’s ear. He snickers when Chanyeol yelps. “What a sight, huh?”

“What are you doing here?” Chanyeol says weakly, heart still hammering in his chest from the fright. “You scared the shit out of me!”

“Listen, Chanyeol, I already know you’ve been avoiding me; there’s no need to sound so upset with me,” Jongdae says, eyes narrowing as he points an accusatory finger at Chanyeol.

Chanyeol doesn’t pinpoint the difference, why Jongdae’s talking so much louder than he usually does, why he’s standing so much closer, until he notices the red flush in Jongdae’s cheeks.

“Are you drunk?” he asks in disbelief. He’d never seen Jongdae drink so much as a drop of anything stronger than a cooler, always waving off the heavier stuff with an I don’t need it.

“Just a little tipsy,” Jongdae corrects with a smile. “Celebrations, you know? For my musical. You know, the one you missed, you great big asshole. I don’t know why I’m still friends with you; you always break my heart.”

Chanyeol doesn’t want to admit that he had seen it, because that means admitting to avoiding Jongdae, and even though Jongdae apparently realizes as much he doesn’t want to legitimize it through confirmation.

“How did you even know where to find me?” Chanyeol asks instead, hand coming up to ease a slightly swaying Jongdae.

Jongdae laughs, loud into the night, and god, Chanyeol’s missed that laugh.

“Of course you’d be up here!” Jongdae exclaims, still giggling. “Where else would Mr. Spaceman-To-Be be on the night where the Taurid Meteor Shower would be the clearest in the sky? Out here on this chilly ass November night with a huge telescope, that’s where!”

And Chanyeol can’t help but laugh with Jongdae, so, so glad that Jongdae’s here, that Jongdae doesn’t seem to be angry with him, that Jongdae’s smiling in a way that Chanyeol’s missed.

He thinks that the warmth in his chest over the fact that Jongdae knew, Jongdae remembered, is enough to make the cold more than bearable.

“But shouldn’t you be at that party?” he can’t help but ask anyway, no matter how much he wants Jongdae to stay. “Aren’t they going to miss you?” He thinks about Joonmyun, about how he might have been there, too.

“Nah,” Jongdae says, shrugging and collapsing onto the grass with a long, satisfied sigh. “They’ll be okay. I know how much you wanted me to see this meteor shower with you, even if you, for some reason, don’t want to admit it. Anymore, anyway. I mean, I get it, kind of.”

There really is no point in denying it any longer, and Chanyeol slumps onto the grass beside Jongdae and avoids his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he says.

“No, you’re not.” The fondness in Jongdae’s voice eases Chanyeol’s anxiety, though he doesn’t know if it’s just the alcohol that’s making him this way, if sober Jongdae really is upset with him. “But I’m here whether you want me to be or not, and you do, by the way. I remember, I was the only one you’d ever talk about this stuff with. Let’s just enjoy this fabulous show in front of us, shall we? I forgive you. Stop worrying.”

Chanyeol decides to drop it and obey, and they both lie back, watching the streaks of light paint the sky where usually only familiar stars twinkle. It’s easier than he would have thought, slipping back into their usual banter, the same easy jokes as Jongdae makes Chanyeol point out all the visible constellations he can remember.

"Even now, I still can't believe how obsessed you are with space, and the stars," Jongdae snickers at one point, "You should see the look on your face when you look up like that. Wish someone would look at me like that."

And for now, Chanyeol forgets about the fact that he’s drowning in schoolwork, that he hasn’t had a good night’s sleep for weeks. He forgets that they’d fallen out, that he’s been trying to distance himself from his best friend. Forgets about that night, forgets about Joonmyun. Instead, he thinks about how long it’s been since he’s laughed like this, since he’s been able to talk to someone so willing to listen, since he’s hasn’t had to pretend because Jongdae already knows everything about him.

He needs this, he realizes. Needs Jongdae like this, in his life. Needs the familiar, warm, comfortable presence of his best friend by his side. Especially now.

This could be enough. Has to be enough.

They lapse into an easy silence after a while, and it’s natural, normal. There’s no need to fill up the air with meaningless words; this is enough. Chanyeol basks in the feeling, not having realized just how much he’d missed having Jongdae around.

And if this is all he could have, nights like this where Chanyeol can take a break from his studying and Jongdae from the rest of his life, Joonmyun, then he’s happy. It doesn’t hurt as much if he’s got Jongdae beside him like this. Even tipsy, his smile is still the same, his laugh is still the same.

"Jongdae, I'm sorry," Chanyeol says, breaking the silence. "I'm sorry I've been avoiding you and not answering your calls."

Jongdae turns his head to look at him, smile on his face. "It's alright, Chanyeol," he begins, but Chanyeol cuts him off.

"No, it isn't, you had every right to call me an asshole. Frankly, I don't know why you don't hate me. I've been a terrible friend to you." Chanyeol's too busy fidgeting with the grass to notice the look that flickers across Jongdae's face at his words. "But I want to make it up to you, Jongdae, I want to be better for you. And - and if you'll really have me back as your best friend, I'd... really like it if we could do this again. If you want to, that is."

When Chanyeol finally meets Jongdae's eyes, his breath gets stuck in his throat because the light in Jongdae's eyes is brighter than any meteor shower he could hope to see.

Jongdae hesitates, opens his mouth as if to say something, then closes it again as he changes his mind.

"Of course I will, Chanyeol," is what he says eventually, and it doesn't sound like the giddy, carelessness of earlier. It makes something in Chanyeol's chest tighten. "I'd love to."

And as they drift back off into silence, with Jongdae slowly falling asleep beside him, Chanyeol thinks how much he'll miss this, this feeling of happiness. About how this must be alright, that he should be able to be keep Jongdae by his side for just a little longer, as long as he could possibly bear it.

After all, college would be ending soon. And he hasn't told the news to anyone yet, but his dream was finally starting to come true; his application for NASA's basic training program had been approved.

He'll tell Jongdae soon. But for now, as he looks down and watches Jongdae's peaceful sleeping face instead of the meteor shower above, this is enough.

They never quite go back to the same place they were before, but this is understandable. They are not the same people they once were, no longer teenagers, no longer barely adults that are still trying to figure out what to do with their lives.

Chanyeol breaks it to Jongdae on the day of Jongdae’s graduation, about how he’s going to basic training, about the two years he’s going to be gone.

Jongdae just smiles, a little sadly, and fidgets with the tassel of his graduation cap. Around them, the rest of Jongdae’s faculty are celebrating with friends, family. Jongdae’s parents are around somewhere, trying to look for their son, and so is Joonmyun. Chanyeol’s glad for this little moment where they can be alone.

“I’m starting to think you have a complex for dropping bombshells on me at graduation,” Jongdae teases lightly after he’s let Chanyeol from a bone-crushing hug. “Congratulations, Chanyeol, but I’ve got to be honest with you. I kinda already knew.”

Chanyeol gapes. “What do you mean, you already knew? Who told you?”

Jongdae’s eyes are so fond as he consoles his friend. “Oh, Chanyeol, I’ve known ever since you told me in high school. There was never any doubt whether you’d get in or not.”

Chanyeol is speechless but doesn’t have the chance to say anything because Jongdae’s parents arrive at that moment, a flurry of excited squeals and tears from his mother, gruff but proud words from his father. Chanyeol has met Jongdae’s parents a handful of times and he’s always got on well with them; he respectfully takes a few steps backward to let Jongdae have a moment with his family. He watches as Jongdae grins so hard, patting his mother on the back in an effort to console her, clutching the enormous bouquet of flowers that had been pushed into his arms.

And then Joonmyun arrives, a more subtle bouquet in his own hands and looking every inch the handsome boyfriend in his button up and slacks, smile on his face making his eyes crinkle. Chanyeol had met Joonmyun, too, a couple of times and he can understand why Jongdae had been so terribly taken with him. Kind almost to a fault, Joonmyun hadn’t faltered for a moment when Jongdae had enthusiastically introduced them to each other, offering his hand and his friendship easily. Chanyeol had taken it without the same kind of effortless grace as Joonmyun, but had taken it all the same.

Chanyeol watches as Jongdae throws his arms around Joonmyun’s neck, bringing him close for a quick kiss, and it’s always surprised Chanyeol to see Jongdae like this. Though he is no stranger to Jongdae’s penchant for unrepentant affection, somehow it’s different to see Jongdae pressed close to Joonmyun’s side, fingers intertwined between them. Chanyeol doesn’t know how he feels about it all, but he doesn’t try figure it out because as far as he’s concerned, he shouldn’t have any feelings about it anyway.

Quickly, Jongdae’s other friends from his faculty begin to come up to him, the same excited words of congratulations and celebration on their lips as they clamour to hug him, shake his hand. Chanyeol remembers how popular Jongdae is, never having had difficulty making friends with just about anyone he’s ever met. Even over all the voices talking over one another, Chanyeol can hear Jongdae’s bubbling laughter. He takes in the scene before him: Jongdae with Joonmyun’s arm wrapped around his waist, his parents smiling proudly at their son, and all of Jongdae’s friends surrounding him. He smiles, albeit softly, and thinks that Jongdae will be fine without him, and he realizes that he’d never really doubted it in the first place, just like Jongdae had never doubted him.

He pushes away the sadness he can feel creeping up on him, because it’s an unwanted and unwelcome emotion, and instead just focuses on the way Jongdae is smiling as brightly as always.

Life goes on as it always does, and after college Chanyeol’s life becomes simultaneously simpler and more difficult.

Chanyeol spends three years earning his PhD in physics. Two years of training afterwards pass quickly; after all, in his youth he’d kept himself in excellent shape and he’d diligently kept up with the exercise throughout his schooling. He keeps up with Kyungsoo, who’d followed alongside him after college and prepares to apply for the upcoming slew of missions about to be announced, thanks to Kyungsoo’s connections. The work is physically demanding, draining, and consumes most of his time. However, it is easy for the years to fly by when he’s always working towards the same goal, only having to focus on fulfilling the next requirement on his list.

He falls out of touch, for the most part, with the handful of people he’d known in school. It isn’t a conscious decision, but as time goes on, fewer and fewer people make the effort to reach out, to ask how he’s doing. Instead, he meets new people at work, meets other trainees like himself, ones that would most likely be going on the same missions as he will. There’s Oh Sehun and Kim Jongin, younger than him by a few years but are just as brilliant. There’s Zhang Yixing, the Chinese transfer who’d been heavily sought after the results of his simulations had come out, and Kim Minseok, the most senior of all of the training astronauts. These are people that Chanyeol allows himself to become close to because like him, they all understand the consequences of their career. He knows Minseok has a wife that waits for him at home, Yixing a lover he’d left behind in China, and he admires them for their strength, their sacrifices.

The only person he keeps in contact with is, unsurprisingly, none other than Kim Jongdae. Sometimes it’s difficult trying to find a spare weekend where he isn’t preparing for another underwater simulation and Jongdae can find time off from the studio to meet each other, but they’ve managed with less before. Chanyeol spends his breaks getting to listen to the demos that Jongdae sends him, closing his eyes and imagining that the real thing is in front of him, singing to him like the way he always would when they were younger. In return, he indulges himself by sending Jongdae pictures of the results board, his name always near the top of the list, if only because Jongdae always replies with excited selfies and thousands of encouraging stickers.

And it is like this that Chanyeol spends his twenties, training and more training, getting experience on piloting aircraft and researching for the mission that he and his team are all slated to be a part of. It’ll be a small one, one for repairs that only requires him to be up in space for a couple of years at most. They’re just a support group for the crew that are already up there, he and the other inexperienced astronauts. He understands working his way up to the bigger missions, the more important ones, and the fact that he’s even getting an opportunity to go up at all is a miracle in itself. He’s talked to the other astronauts, the ones who, like he, had spent their entire lives training only to wait for years and eventually age past the allowed age range for active astronauts. The idea terrifies him. It makes his resolve stronger; he must train harder, do better, to prove that he is worthy of this mission.

However, the years keep going by and Chanyeol keeps training. There is, of course, always more to do, more to learn, but he’s seen the worried looks of his superiors, felt the tension at the base rise ever so steadily as more and more news comes in daily, bad news. He knows about the budget cuts, the loss of public support as the interest fades. He’d heard about the failed mission as the news had come in; the shuttle that had exploded in less than thirty seconds after launching. Chanyeol keeps training and training, but as each year passes without any hopeful news, he finds himself losing hope, something he never imagined could happen.

It doesn’t even come as a surprise when the mission is called off a few weeks after Chanyeol turns thirty. They’re all gathered in the briefing room and are told that, unfortunately, there wasn’t anything left they could do. Resources had dried up and they weren’t planning on sending anything up into space for at least ten years.

Ten years is far too long for Chanyeol to wait, and he takes the news badly. It had taken him thirty years to get to this point, and only five minutes for everything to come crashing down around him. He would be grounded permanently, although he, at least, had been invited to stay and work as an engineer because of his experience. He knows Minseok has already accepted, and that Yixing is already making plans to go home.

Jongdae is the first person he calls, the first person he even thinks of reaching out to.

“It’s over, Jongdae,” Chanyeol greets when Jongdae picks up on the second ring. “Everything’s over.”

“Chanyeol, I’m so sorry,” Jongdae breathes, softly, and Chanyeol closes his eyes, letting Jongdae’s voice wash over him. Jongdae, of course, had kept with all of the news and even he did not seem surprised.

“What am I supposed to do now?” Chanyeol asks, desperation slipping unbidden into his voice as he clutches his phone. “This was everything, my whole life. And now they’re telling me I’ll never go up, that I’ll be too old, that I should just focus on the work they have down here. Jongin and Sehun, they might have a chance, but the rest of us? What are we supposed to do?”

“Chanyeol, I know how badly you wanted this, I know,” Jongdae says, hesitating. “I know how hard you’ve worked for this, I know how much it means to you. But…” He pauses before continuing in a rush, “maybe… maybe this will be better. For you. After all, there’s plenty to learn and discover from Earth. And - and you won’t even have to leave to do it.” Jongdae sounds hopeful, and Chanyeol knows he’s trying his best to console him. But hearing it from Jongdae only makes the situation feel more real and less like a terrible, terrible nightmare.

And the worst part is that there isn’t anything else for Chanyeol to do but believe Jongdae’s words.

Chanyeol is asked two years later and he’s accepting before they can even finish speaking.

A special mission, they’d said, unprecedented. A last minute endeavour in a last ditch attempt to rally support from the board, from the public. They’d asked him as their best hope, the most experienced, one of the few left from his team who could still be considered. They hadn’t accepted any new trainees since Chanyeol’s round; there was really no one else they could have asked.

“Chanyeol? Are you finished for today already? I was wondering if we were still on for this weekend,” Jongdae says when he picks up Chanyeol’s call. Ever since Chanyeol had accepted his desk job, they’ve been able to spend much more time together. Jongdae had been delighted, and Chanyeol had allowed himself to open up now that it was no longer a risk.

“Jongdae, I’m going,” Chanyeol whispers, fingers shaking as he tries to hold back the tears pricking the corners of his eyes. It’s finally happening, he’s finally going.

“That’s great! Joonmyun was just saying--”

“No, Jongdae, you don’t understand,” Chanyeol interrupts. “I’m going. To space. They asked me just now and - oh my god, Jongdae, I can’t believe it, I’m actually going.”

“What?” Jongdae asks, and Chanyeol can hear the way his friend’s voice cracks. “What do you mean? I thought you said - you told me. You said you weren’t, that it was cancelled.”

“This wasn’t planned, this is different, but Jongdae don’t you see? It doesn’t matter, all that matters is that they asked me. I almost couldn’t, I almost lost hope, but I am.” Chanyeol can’t help the sob that escapes, overwhelmed as the tears finally fall from his face.

“How long will you be gone for?” Jongdae asks, voice oddly contorted through the phone. “It can’t be long, right? A short mission. Because you’re thirty-two, they couldn’t possibly let you stay for too long.”

Chanyeol pauses as the full weight of the situation finally settles down on him, the agreement he’d given so rashly.

“It’s not that kind of mission, Jongdae,” he replies after a long moment and he remembers that it isn’t just about him anymore.

“And what is that supposed to mean?” Jongdae hisses and Chanyeol can tell that Jongdae already knows, has already figured it out.

It’s his father that Chanyeol thinks of when he says, “Not all spacemen come home.”

His mother cries when he tells her, cries and cries like she hasn’t for twenty-five years. Chanyeol sits with her and doesn’t cry, just like he hadn’t when he was seven years old and his father had left for the last time.

“I’m sorry,” he keeps saying, and he means it. He means it enough that the words keep choking him. He remembers how he’d once vowed never to make his mother cry for him, remembers the way his house had felt so cold after his father had left. Remembers eating dinner with his mother, barely nine years old and wondering how he could make his mother smile because he misses when his mother used to do that. He remembers how sad she’d always looked.

The way his mother is shaking is worse, exponentially worse, and he knows this time it’s completely his fault and he can do nothing about it.

“I’m so sorry,” he repeats, over and over because he has nothing else to say, no promises he can make to her. His heart burns when he realizes how empty the house will be, how there will be no one to come and visit her on the weekends to check on her and her thriving garden.

“You don’t have to be,” his mother tells him, struggling futilely to smile when she looks up at him and cups his face with her hand. He looks at his mother and how the lines on her face are deeper now, more numerous, and he’s sorry because his mother had only had him left. “You don’t have to apologize, Chanyeol, my son. Don’t apologize for being happy.”

And as he takes his mother - his mother who is so strong, so loving, his mother who’s always known that she would be losing the two most important people in her life - in his arms, he doesn’t feel happy at all. His heart breaks for the mother that he loves so, so much and he remembers again why he hadn’t, couldn’t let himself love freely.

Jongdae is allowed to visit Chanyeol during the final stages of his training; he just doesn’t do it very often because Chanyeol won’t let him.

Chanyeol thinks that Jongdae probably knows what he’s doing. After all, Chanyeol’s played the distancing game before and he’d failed at it miserably. But still, this doesn’t stop him from making up excuses to avoid seeing Jongdae. At this point, it almost comes second nature to him - a fact that he does not miss, a fact that is bitter to swallow.

Jongdae had congratulated him, of course, had told him how happy he was for Chanyeol. But even though Jongdae seemed to understand, Chanyeol had learned his lesson.

All the same, he can’t help how grateful he is when Jongdae barges into one of his underwater training sessions, frown on his face.

“You can’t avoid me forever, Park Chanyeol,” Jongdae says sharply at Chanyeol, who can’t hear him from where he is underwater. Chanyeol has a good idea anyway and only throws himself harder into his practice.

He’s exhausted and nauseous once he’d finally called it quits and had left the pool, slowly unsuiting in the changing room. He knows Jongdae is still waiting for him, and he feels sick enough that the thought doesn’t even upset him as much.

“You look awful, Chanyeol,” Jongdae tells him kindly when Chanyeol finally emerges, hair wet and legs dragging. Chanyeol doesn’t even hesitate when he slumps down beside Jongdae, leaning on him heavily in exhaustion.

“Difficulty level was set to the highest,” Chanyeol mutters, “Gotta get used to it. It’ll be worse up there, they said. I still feel like throwing up, though.”

Jongdae’s hand stills from where it’s carding through Chanyeol’s drying hair at the reminder, but resumes after a moment. “I told you attending those college parties would have been good for you,” he says lightly after a moment. “You’d probably be better at this nauseous business.”

Chanyeol snorts. “Well, it’s too late now,” he says heavily. “I guess I’ll just have to deal with it.”

“Your mom’s been asking about you,” Jongdae says, switching the topic. “Wanted to know how you’ve been doing. I didn’t know how to break it to her that I wouldn’t know.” His words are steely as he says them.

Chanyeol had asked, a few days after he’d told his mother, Jongdae for his help. Promise me you’ll call her, at least, he’d begged, Just to make sure she’s alright. He wouldn’t be able to forgive himself if he left her without anybody. She likes you.

And Jongdae had, inexplicably, scowled. And who’s going to call me? he’d snapped, arms crossing. To make sure I’m alright?

Chanyeol had just blinked, confused. But you’ll - you’ll be fine, he’d said. You’ve got Joonmyun, your friends.

Jongdae had sighed afterwards, eyes weary. He’d nodded, eventually, and promised. I’ll take care of her for you, Chanyeol.

“Just tell her I’m fine,” Chanyeol replies, shrugging. “I don’t want to upset her... any more than I already have,” he corrects.

Jongdae looks at him searchingly. “But are you really? Are you really fine?” he presses.

And for Jongdae’s sake, Chanyeol nods, pushing himself upright. “I’m okay. I promise.”

In the last couple of weeks, Chanyeol says his last goodbyes and throws himself wholeheartedly into last minute preparations. Some goodbyes are easy, like to the acquaintances he’s made at the station. Some goodbyes are harder, like the video call he has with Yixing, who wishes him the best, his new wife and child sitting beside him waving. Minseok shakes his hand but then pulls him into a tight hug, and when he pulls back there are tears in his eyes.

“Do it for the both of us,” Minseok tells him, “Do it for all of us.”

Sehun and Jongin are more composed, but they both embrace him warmly when he makes his final goodbyes to them.

“Make sure you don’t take too long following me up there,” Chanyeol instructs.

Sehun snorts, but his eyes are wet. “You’re crazy, dude,” he says. “But I’m going to miss your crazy ass anyway.”

He makes a last visit to his mother a week before he leaves. She doesn’t cry this time, having had months now to come to terms. They spend two days together, going over old memories and Chanyeol probably says I love you to her more times in those two days than he’s ever said in his whole life. He makes her promise not to tell Jongdae when he’s leaving, telling her that it’s for the best, that he would say goodbye another way. She doesn’t seem convinced but agrees. He kisses her cheek when he leaves, and this time it is he who can’t help the tears he sheds when he watches her grow more and more distant as he drives away from his house.

He’s put off saying goodbye to Jongdae until the very end, because for some reason he can never bring himself to actually do it. He’s tried working up the courage countless times, only to lose his nerve before he can hit dial on his phone. He doesn’t think he could face seeing Jongdae in person, doesn’t think he could possibly do it justice if he’s faced with a crying Jongdae. Because knows, he knows this will be the hardest goodbye they’ll both ever have to face. He knows Jongdae’s been trying to remain calm but he can tell when his best friend begins to crack, he knows him well enough for at least that.

Instead he writes a letter, one that takes him hours and dozens of attempts to get right. In the letter, he thanks Jongdae for everything. He thanks him for being his friend when no one else would, for staying his friend even though Chanyeol definitely never deserved it. He thanks Jongdae for being a perfect, beautiful person and wishes him happiness.

Even though I’m hurting you, because I am, I know it. I knew I would when I let you become my friend, let myself care for you. I knew it and yet I still allowed it, and for that I’m eternally sorry. You don’t deserve what I’ve done to you, what I’m going to do to you. I’m sorry, and I hope one day, you might find it in your heart to forgive me, even though I definitely don’t deserve it. Knowing you, you probably will, anyway.

He mails it to Jongdae by express post and he reminds himself that he’s supposed to be happy. He’s finally going to achieve the dream he’s worked so hard for. It’s not supposed to feel like this, like a sentencing.

Chanyeol thinks he shouldn’t be surprised to see Jongdae, given his track record of never letting Chanyeol’s cowardice get the better of him. But still when he’s informed of one last visitor as he’s waiting in the final holding room before launch he feels as if the air has been knocked out of him when Jongdae walks in.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” Chanyeol says weakly, and all of a sudden his legs feel like they’re going to collapse from beneath him. “Jongdae, you’re not supposed to be here.”

“Park Chanyeol, you are the biggest idiot in the world - and the entire galaxy, for that matter - if you thought that I would let you get away with the stunt you tried to pull on me with that stupid letter,” Jongdae says, but he doesn’t look angry. Chanyeol thinks Jongdae’s never looked so small before, so resigned.

“I’m sorry,” Chanyeol says and the words are harder to say around the lump in his throat.

“You’re always sorry, Chanyeol,” Jongdae answers with a sigh. “Stop telling me you’re sorry because sorry doesn’t change anything.”

“Jongdae, I -”

“Forget it, Chanyeol,” Jongdae interrupts with a wan smile. “I’m not here to make you feel bad. I’m just… just here to be your friend. One last time.”

The silence in the room is echoing as Chanyeol stares into his best friend’s face, the one face he knows he could never bear saying goodbye to.

One of the attendants comes into the room then, apologies written on her face as she tells them they have five minutes left.

“Do you remember that space suit we designed together in high school?” Jongdae asks, small smile on his face. “Can you believe that’s what brought us together? You and your shyness, how cute you were when you fumbled over your words, how you used to go on and on about things I only half-understood back then but you were so excited about it. I remember how much I envied you, back then.”

Chanyeol silently disagrees about this, because that can’t be possible when it was he that was always envious of Jongdae.

“This suit’s nowhere near as nice as the one we made,” Jongdae finishes.

“That’s because they care about me surviving,” Chanyeol jokes weakly, remembering the conversation from so many years ago. “And besides, this suit’s plenty flashy.”

Jongdae’s small hand gently reaches out to touch the patch on Chanyeol’s chest, in the same place that he’d drawn a similar patch on their design, the one that had CJ written on it instead of NASA. He shakes his head, lets out soft laughter and says, “Don’t you remember, Chanyeol? You’ve got the brains, I’m the one with the style. It’s why we work.”

Chanyeol can feel his heart beating so fast in chest, hammering away and making it hard to breathe. He just wants to chalk it up to excitement, that everything is finally coming together, that’s he’s going to space.

The smile on Jongdae’s face is nothing like the one that Chanyeol knows, that is more familiar to him than his own smile, when he stretches up onto his toes to kiss Chanyeol on the forehead. And Chanyeol’s heart beats just that much faster and it must be the suit adjusting for air pressure, oxygen levels, his heart just responding to the changes.

“Just know that I’ll always be here waiting for you if you ever decide you want to come back,” Jongdae says with an empty laugh, “My spaceman.”

And the look on Jongdae’s face as he says it tears at him, there’s no use denying it, and for a split second he thinks wildly if this is how his father felt when he’d left.

“When,” Chanyeol hears himself whispering at the last minute, when he turns around to take one last look at Jongdae before the doors close. “When I’ll get back.” And he wonders when he ever started making empty promises.

Chanyeol’s last glimpse of Jongdae is of Jongdae with tears sparkling in his eyes staring back at him and he thinks they look an awful lot like stars in that moment.

And it’s only then, finally then, that he realizes how much he doesn’t really want to go because his dream is standing behind the doors that have just closed behind him. He realizes how much he wishes he could go back, refuse to leave, because despite all of his efforts he’s fallen in love when he wasn’t supposed to. Regrets his decision to sign all of those papers, sign his life away because he’s signed off his heart to Space when his heart is no longer his to sign away.

And he wishes he could take everything back, every moment back because he wants to take back the worst mistake he’d ever made: letting Jongdae fall in love with him, too. Because he remembers now, remembers how Jongdae had always agreed with him about the universe, about how how amazing and full of wonder it is - but that Earth could maybe have the same kind of wonder. Remembers what Jongdae had murmured afterwards, about how cold and vast and lonely the universe is. Remembers the look in Jongdae’s eye when he tells him how it could be better if he could share it with someone, see it through someone else’s eyes. And he’d never realized what that look had meant back then because he’d always been too busy looking at the stars to pay much notice.

(Chanyeol had thought back then that he was good at loneliness, good at managing to get by with just one friend, when he’s only ever been good at Jongdae.)

(five years later - epilogue)

Space is just as beautiful as Chanyeol had always imagined, alone in his ship.

It’s everything he’s ever dreamed of, how it feels to touch the sky, to drift amongst the stars. It’s stunning, aweing, and it makes Chanyeol feels so wonderfully small.

And of course, the first person Chanyeol wants to his story to is the same person he’d had to leave behind to do it. He thinks, not for the first time, about maybe turning around, tracing his steps back home.

The lenses on his camera equipped on the spacecraft are too fragile to be able to capture Earth any more, and it’s one of the sights that he misses most. He remembers taking his first breath of recycled air, watching as the Earth grew smaller and smaller and feeling pure awe at the breathtaking sight. But he also remembers how much his heart had hurt thinking about the price he’d had to pay to witness it, how much he’d wanted to reach out and call home to Jongdae, to apologize for ever thinking that he could let him go like that.

But he’s not meant to be capturing images of Earth anyway, that’s not what he’s set out to do. It’s the data that’s being constantly transmitted back to the Earth that is what’s needed. It’s what has him dismissing the idea of going back home from his mind.

He doesn’t let himself ruminate on the past too often. Five years is a long time to spend anguishing in his regrets and his work was far too important for him to allow it. But every now and then, as he’s looking out at stars that, by the time their light hits his eyes, are already gone, he has to remind himself that he can’t let himself think the same thing about Jongdae.

Jongdae is waiting, he thinks instead. Jongdae is waiting for me and I can’t let him down like that.

It’s the only thing that keeps him focused on his work while he waits for a message he hopes might come asking for him to come back home.