Archive of Our Own

tamuke no hana wa rinto chiriyuku—

A house stands on the outskirts of Belobog, right where civilization meets with the unfathomable cold beyond. It stands like an echo, as if you could walk inside and soak up a nonexistent warmth from eons ago.

Untouched by the passage of time.

Rumors carry themselves on the wind. They whisper about unrequited love; of something ending and not quite beginning anew.

Its sojourn continues, its walls a stark dash of sunlight-yellow against Belobog’s unrelenting clouds.

Amber Era—2158; Vitals: Stable

“Belobog… should we set it up in Belobog?”

“I’m fine with whatever you think, love.”

“Caelus!” Dan Heng splutters, “not so loud!”

Caelus tips his head back in laughter. “It’s fine! Do you actually believe for a second that we’re not obvious by now?” He lifts their intertwined hands high enough for Dan Heng to see them, before wiggling his eyebrows. “Or do you want to stop?”

He looks away, cheeks prickling in a way that does not have anything to do with his idiot boyfriend. “…No. I like it. ‘S warm.”

He sees Caelus nod in an understanding manner in the corner of his eye. Dan Heng is cold—naturally cold-blooded. Any extended time in Belobog requires some… countermeasures. Not that he minds a convenient excuse to feel Caelus’ steady warmth, transmitted even through the rough fabric of his gloves.

It is light today, a stark contrast to Belobog’s normally cloudy climate. The wind blows, with a faint trace of warmth. Dan Heng ignores the implications that has in regard to his emotions and pulls Caelus along the backroad of the Administrative District.

They need a place farther away from the Supreme Guardian and the Silvermane Guards. Far enough away that they need not pretend to be trailblazers and their duties. Far enough away in an unnamed area so that they can just be them. Caelus and Dan Heng. A lone star and a leaf that had fallen into its orbit.

Caelus’ grip tightens. Dan Heng immediately stops in his tracks and turns to him. A sheen of sweat haloes Caelus’ face, turning it all soft and angel-like even as his face twists a little.

“Caelus? If you’re hurting, we can take a break.”

“No,” Caelus manages through clenched teeth. “I’m okay, let’s keep going.”

Dan Heng nods once and turns back around, unwilling to see his star in any more pain than he has to. They must hurry now. Caelus needs rest, despite him saying otherwise.

Dan Heng and Caelus.

One had risked it all; one had been there to catch the other in his dove-like wing.

Phantylia flashes in his mind. Her whispers, promising havoc. A flower, opening like a shellfish to encase Jing Yuan and Dan Heng’s mind going blank. Caelus, running on feather-light steps and pirouetting in the air, falling like the roar of a waterfall right in front of the General.

To take the hit.

The flower opens wider. It looks like a smile. It looks like a laugh as it parts like the sea and engulfs Caelus in its grasp.

Dan Heng screams, a weird sound that sounds more like his innards are being pulled out through his mouth. He draws his arm back; cloudhymn magic soars within him as dragons blot the sky. A teardrop traces its way down his face. He blinks; rains trickles down from the leaves and Phantylia grins a damning grin.

Dan Heng shakes his head to be rid of those memories. Caelus is fine—will be fine. He simply needs rest. Hesitantly, he peeks at his beloved behind him. Caelus’ grip is not yet weak enough to warrant concern; his golden eyes are enraptured by all the trash cans they pass by.

Against all odds, Dan Heng stifles a laugh, promising to himself that the next time they go out, he will let Caelus plunder trash cans to his heart’s content.

Walking down the residential areas of the Administrative District, the pair slow down to a stop in front of an empty plot of cobblestone flanked on one side by a run-down house and a fortress wall on the other. Dan Heng shivers, it is noticeably colder here, no doubt because they’ve reached the outskirts of Belobog itself.

Outside these walls, a storm rages without the influence of the Stellaron.

“It’s chilly here, isn’t it?” Caelus says the moment he catches his breath—wheezing, halting breaths that Dan Heng takes care not to show concern over. “Will you be alright?”

Always about others. Never about himself. He knows Caelus, knows that this is simply a facet of his kindness, and yet he cannot stop the prickle of a desperate sort of love. “The colder the better for you, right?” Yes, Caelus needs cold. As one forged by the cosmos, his body creates heat as if he is a star, as if he exists solely to sustain others. Give. Caelus gives too much.

Caelus smiles a watery smile. Encouragingly, his breath is back in his lungs, much faster than usual after any sort of exertion. What Lady Bailu said must be correct, then. “You can just tell me you’re cold, y’know.”

Dan Heng knows. “And you can tell me that you want to rest.”

His smile turns goofy. The sight of it makes Dan Heng’s heart ache—it has been far too long since he’s seen it. “Will I finally have the doting boyfriend of my dreams? Ooh, maybe I can get the princess treatment!” His eyes turn pleading. Dan Heng loves the spark of life clinging to their depths. It means that Caelus is still here, still with him. “Can I get my prince’s magical kiss?”

“You be quiet,” Dan Heng says, but his voice is full on drunken happiness. He indulges his greedy little love with a peck on the cheek. Caelus’ skin is hot, bordering on feverish. He is rewarded with a small laugh; Dan Heng shushes his adorable lover with another kiss, this time on the lips.

Caelus’ grasp on his hand tightens; a million things are shared between them without words. When they part, a different sort of heat between their inches-apart lips, Caelus whispers, “I’m scared.”

Dan Heng traces the back of Caelus’ hand in an outline of a star. “Me too,” he finally says, honestly, “me too.”

Amber Era—2159; Vitals: Heartrate is 10 bpm above the baseline of 90 bpm.

They learn that their proposal has been accepted while lounging on the Express. Dan Heng reads a book on the couch; Caelus busies himself with meddling with Dan Heng’s outfit, lifting up the various odds and ends for a reaction. The outline of a tail curls protectively over Caelus’ waist, unfelt but there—a whisper of protectiveness.

March bursts into the main cabin with a wide smile, out of breath in a way that reminds him of Caelus’ pained gasps of air, as if each one plucked another feather out of his soul.

“They agreed! They’re gonna do it, guys!”

Caelus stops fiddling with the leather of Dan Heng’s shoes and jerks his head up, eyes shining with an inferno of happiness. It is infectious. On instinct, and luckily hidden, Dan Heng’s tail points up with equal parts excitement and satisfaction. “Oh my Aeons! I can finally show off my barista chops!” He says as much, before pausing. “You’ll come with me to check it out, right Dan Heng?”

Golden eyes. They are wide with excitement, shimmering with a burst of sunlight itself. It hurts Dan Heng to remember how still they were, how dull the melting pot of molten light was when he had torn through the remnants of the flower, baring his teeth at the smug Phantylia. He dared her to take Caelus from him and face the consequences.

He swallows; those memories are bitter as they slide down his throat. “Yes, let us go.”

Caelus grins. First at him, and then at March. “And thank you, March! You’ve been checking for approval everyday with Bronya, right?”

Dan Heng starts, he did not know that. March rubs the back of her head sheepishly. “Aha, you got me there. I just really, really want to try your coffee!”

Classic March. Concern is written all over her face, evident enough that Caelus turns away without another word, a shadow glancing across his features. But before Dan Heng can question it, it disappears without a whisper.

Caelus’ grin affixes on his face. “Lookin’ forward to doing business with ya, partner! I bet we’ll make all the Belogians jealous with our delicious coffee.”

“Might I remind you that I’ve never made coffee before?” He is more of a “water” person himself.

“Nope!” Caelus makes a face. “No serving water to our customers.”

“So that’s off the table?” He doubts that Caelus will allow him to let the customers drink water that he creates.

“That’s off limits.” Caelus says, before brightening to a smile. “I’m guessing that means I can’t cook with it?”

“Out of the question. No cooking with the flames from your lance.”

“Aw. I was looking forward to it, too.”

“I am sorry. But you do know that that is reserved for your lips only, right?”

A beautiful little blush tints Caelus’ cheekbones. “And you know that I only use it to warm you up when it’s cold outside, right?”

Dan Heng chuckles. “Of course I do. You love me, after all.”

“Idiot.” The blush ripens against usually pale flesh. “You said it before I could.”

“You can still say it, y’know.”

Caelus mumbles something to himself; Dan Heng’s taps into his enhanced senses on instinct and hears something about Dan Heng being unfair.

Something to even the scales is in order, it seems. An idea. He parts his lips, tasting the shape of the words on his tongue. “I love you, Caelus.”

For some reason, he is the one who blushes from hearing it. “Love” barely fits him as well as it does Caelus, who gifts it to the townspeople, the children, the worlds themselves. “Love” to him is reserved for a very special star.

It’s uncharacteristic of him to say something like that so readily.

Dragons do not love, someone once said. That is fine. If Dan Heng loves, then that means he is no dragon at all. And Dan Heng loves Caelus, fate be damned. He is Dan Heng; Caelus is Caelus; the worlds continue spinning forevermore.

Caelus stares at him, dumbfounded for a moment. He opens his mouth to speak, but March, watching the spectacle with wide eyes, finally jumps in. “C’mon, just get out already! Get yourselves into that coffee shop or get a room!”

Dan Heng and Caelus look at her, then at each other, and then the whole room bursts into laughter.

“This little plot of land is gonna be our little shop, huh?”

The barren plot of dirt. It’s claustrophobic to imagine anything built upon this rubble of weeds and peddles staring mournfully at the sky. The fortress wall casts a shadow over listless strands of grass; Dan Heng shivers and tightens his hold on Caelus’ hand.

Caelus, looking over the land as if the coffee shop had materialized into thin air, suddenly turns to look at him. “Dan Heng?”

The wind howls; it is cloudy today. “Yes,” he lies, unsure of what exactly he’s answering, “this place is perfect.”

Caelus lifts up their joined hands and nuzzles against the back of them. “I know it’s not gonna be the biggest out there, but I think this’ll turn out homey enough.”

The wind howls, kicks up sediment. The sun is setting, heralding the night’s arrival. Dan Heng studies Caelus’ face. It beams with a happiness that cannot seem to dispel a foreboding in his chest. But how can he even begin to explain this emotion, how it rises like a scream in his throat?

“How long until construction is finished?” he says instead.

Caelus’ face radiates with a joy that seems fit to chase the shadows into hiding. Trailblazer, savior, star—all of those names and more. Stick to him and you will burn—he came to that conclusion the moment Caelus pointed his lance at Cocolia. He prefers that to the biting cold of his room with the Data Bank, an outline of Caelus chasing him in his dreams. He prefers the pain to the loneliness on dark nights.

“Bronya texted me that it would probably take a half of an Amber Era.”

“He—will he be…?”

Dan Heng does not finish that sentence. He knows not cloudhymn magic that can heal, but the scant recollections of previous lives tells him that Caelus is in critical condition.

Bailu doesn’t reply, hands folded neatly upon Caelus’ chest. Dan Heng resists the urge to cradle Caelus with his cloudhymn magic, if only to raise him above the floor of the Scalegorge Waterscape.

His ancestral home lets out a mournful wail.

His tail materializes instead, propping Caelus’ head up in a sort of pillow he hopes can provide comfort. As he does so, Bailu watches him, solemn and silent as the chasing shadows of dragons in the waters he parted with his phantom power.

“Half an Amber Era.”

Dan Heng’s head snaps up, meeting her gaze. They sit; the High Elder of the Luofu feels all the almightier, all the more encompassing. She deserves more than a fake crown and multitude of degrading whispers. “Lady Bailu?”

“I found something in my filtering of his qi,” she says, the healer. She gives as Caelus gives as Dan Heng destroys. “It was lump-like in texture, similar to a pill.” Bailu frowns then, averting her attention back to his beloved’s unconscious face. Dan Heng follows her gaze; if he squints, he can almost delude himself into believing that Caelus is asleep. Yet his lips are too blue, his eyes too still, and Caelus never sleeps for more than a few hours.

Excess energy, he called it. Welt had hypothesized that this overabundance of energy was due to the Stellaron in his body, pushing the limits of Caelus’ body to the max.

“I recognized this pill-like substance: it has the traces of the toxins used to grant immortality.” At this, Bailu balls her hands into fists. “Or worse, push short-life species to the point of being mara-stricken.”

A pause. Dan Heng blinks. Something like a roar cuts the air between them. He feels dizzy; Bailu’s face warps in front of him, a tunneling effect. Layers of knowledge—memories—overlay, that of a group of friends and their tragic fate; he feels like he’s looking at nothing.

His eyes flit across Caelus’ face. Still. Unmovable. Caelus. A visage that is everything he is not. Something in him is burning; something is him is flying on a dove’s wing. Is he mara-struck? “What?”

“N-No!” Bailu backtracks, “He’s alright!” She looks desperately at him and realization washes over him slowly. Oh. His tail, once pliant and soft underneath the back of Caelus’ head had slithered downwards to wrap around his torso in a tight grip. It hums with a wave of power. Mine, it seems to whisper, mine. Flustered, Dan Heng dissolves its form in a puff of magic, careful not to hurt Caelus.

“M-My apologies, Lady Bailu, I—"

“…You are forgiven.” A cursory glance reveals Bailu to be amused before her expression hardens once again. “His qi is strong—stronger than most, in fact. And the pill seems almost harmless,” she averts her eyes, “for a time.”

“Almost?” he echoes, for a time?

“Half an Amber Era,” she says, and something in her voice sounds ancient, like those fragments of knowledge that pass through his mind, enduring and omniscient and all-consuming. “Half an Amber Era before that pill destroys whatever is keeping it from exerting its influence. What will happen after that is unknown to us as of now. Phantylia exacerbated the issue—shortened the time for this to take effect.”

His heart is in his throat. Dragons do not feel. So why does that ugly thing building in his chest feel like sadness? Dan Heng knows. He knows it is far, far too late to play pretend now. Far too late to rip out a heart Caelus so carefully nourished.

The Scalegorge Waterscape swirls around him like blues and moisture so thick he can part it with raised fingertips. He looks at Bailu, then at Caelus, then down at his hands.

His hands destroy. They did so when he tore through Phantylia’s make-believe flesh, dragons and fury and sharpened teeth. Caelus’ hands are warm, soft as a dove. A smile. An ache just as painful.

He does not want to hear more. Bailu must know that, for her voice lowers a little, as if doing so will soften its impact. “Do you understand, Dan Heng?” He does but does not have it in him to say anything at all. A shadow eerily similar to his own manifests next to Bailu’s crouching form. And her next words are followed with a sing-song echo:

“Caelus is—He needs rest.”

She stops, the shadow grins; Dan Heng feels the weight of his sins bearing down on his back, just as the world itself dims before his eyes.

Even as Caelus stirs, even as Caelus opens his eyes and perceives the colors of being alive, even as Caelus looks at him and smiles with recognition, even as Caelus says in that joking manner that makes him want to weep: “Good morning, Dan Heng!”

The world remains vacant. He puts on an air of normalcy, tinged with a sizable worry, and simply says, “Welcome back.”

“Half an Amber Era is it?” he repeats. That amount of time had passed and then some. And yet nothing has happened. His qi is strong, Bailu had said. On nights spent by his lonesome, he prays that it is strong enough to shield against that shadow of destruction, adopting Dan Heng’s visage like an incessant omen. Time falls through their hourglass at every minute they spend apart, every minute their spend together.

“Half an Amber Era cannot come soon enough.”

Caelus hums in agreement. They turn to face their little dirt plot. Claustrophobic. Shadowed. Theirs.

No more words are exchanged between them. Dan Heng wonders if Caelus already knows; he wonders if Caelus’ grip on his hand, tighter than usual, means anything at all.

Amber Era—2159; Vitals: Stable

“Oh, are we running low on water? Let me—”

“No, Dan Heng,” Caelus tugs on his sleeve, reaching over the sink and causing the soap suds to be transferred along with him and onto Dan Heng’s clothes, “no making water.”

“But you—you should not be going out in this weather!”

“Says who?” Caelus sticks his tongue out at him, all the while his hands continue lathering each dish with soap. “Says some overprotective bum who thinks a cloudy day is any real danger!”

Dan Heng resists the urge to massage the wrinkle that is definitely between his brows at this point. “Fine,” he says blandly, wringing the sponge out a few times before placing it back on its holder, “I’ll go get the water and keep my sick boyfriend from running outside at every opportunity.”

And before Caelus can respond, Dan Heng strides out of the pearly-white kitchen, weaving around their small wooden dinner table and makes for the door leading into the dining area.

A sparsely decorated, yet surprisingly spacious room greets him. Dan Heng takes in the sight of sunrise-yellow tables and matching chairs—the back patterns of which curl with accented hearts per Caelus’ wishes—dotting the white rectangular space. He maneuvers around the register and its gray tabletop and starts for the door to the outside.

The windows tell him that the outside is not nearly as pleasant. Not nearly as pleasant as the café—the home they have together.

The home where Caelus is waiting for him. The home that he will surely return to for many Amber Eras to come.

Dan Heng pushes the door open, wincing as a biting gust of air cuts through his clothes. The faint protection from Akivil is minute in the face of such wind. Outside, the sky is dark, cloudy, dead in a way that means he will be seeing few civilians today.

Few neighbors, he amends to himself. For Caelus and Dan Heng live here, unburdened by time itself.

And so he starts down the abandoned path. The street their nest shares is filled with dilapidated buildings, standing solitary against the gray sky. They look solemn, as if they had been stabbed through too many times to stand upright; their shadows trace patterns against the fortress wall they lean on.

It should be intimidating, but a smile pulls at Dan Heng’s lips instead. It’s their own little world now, unburdened with even the game of pretend.

“Ah, that was good!” March leans back in her chair with a stretch and a satisfied smile. “Caelus, you’ve really improved!”

Caelus grins through heavy breaths; even making a pair of coffees is enough to knock the breath out of his lungs. “Yeah!” he starts, “practice makes perfect and all that.”

Dan Heng peeks at their table from behind the register. March giggles, bringing up the petal-themed cup to her mouth and taking another sip. Caelus’ face beams in a smile, large enough to chase the memory of his grimaces from Dan Heng’s mind. For now.

“Feeling lonely?”

He starts, before relaxing and bringing his attention to the woman sitting at the table closest to him. He cannot find it in himself to refute her. “Why do you ask?”

Himeko smiles around her own cup. It looks sad, with a little something else that Dan Heng cannot place. “The stars miss you, Dan Heng.”

I do not miss them. “Is that so?”

“Yes,” Himeko’s lowers her cup into the saucer. All this time and she hasn’t broken eye-contact. Strangely, his throat feels dry. “The stars miss you almost as much as Caelus misses the stars.”

A warning. Dan Heng bristles. He’s whirling. Drowning. He squeezes his hand into a fist, hard enough to draw blood. The dragons constrict, tightening, choking, like the inexorable pull of destruction, reminding him that no, he’s not human—

Phantylia grunts at first. He curls his other hand into a fist. Now, she’s screaming. The dragons roar in pace with his heartbeat, as they wrap around her throat—

“Himeko,” he says, voice low. He pauses, making sure the lively chatter of Caelus and March hasn’t stopped before continuing, “what are you trying to say?”

The smile drops from her face. She does not look angry, and as the light falls on her eyes she looks out to be—concerned.

“Once, a long time ago, a girl stumbled upon a train,” she starts, and Dan Heng squashes the question from leaving his mouth, “and while her parents were unwilling to allow her even an hour to investigate it, the girl found a way around them.” Himeko’s gaze finally leaves his, a distinct sheen turning them glassy. “She wanted to explore the galaxy, you see, and leave her world altogether. And so she did. She did everything she could. And it worked.”

Himeko’s voice lowers into a whisper. “She escaped, but the memory of her parents’ refusal haunted her, to the point that she wonders to this day if they regret their actions at all. But there was no turning back, not when the girl had longed for the stars.”

“Don’t you get it?” At that, she raises her eyes up to his, the concern giving way to determination—no, surety. “He’s not a dove you can keep in a cage, Dan Heng. Don’t let these next Amber Eras be a repeat of the previous ones; don’t let them be something you regret—”

“Excuse me.”

He feels himself turn on his heel and escape to the kitchen in one fluid breath. When the door closes behind him with a finality to it, he lets out a heaving sigh.

The air has been knocked out of him. Morbidly, he wonders if this is how Caelus feels when he walks from the front of the café to the kitchen in the back. Like someone had punctured your lungs, and it’s left deflating like a limp bag.

Like you’re drowning, like you just want to squeeze your hand tight enough so that another can scream.

He melts against the wall. The smell of ground coffee tickles his nose, just as wind rushes into the crevices of his pale, exposed skin from an open window. It’s cold. He needs—He wants—

Something wet trickles down his face. As he reaches up to touch it, it doesn’t take long before he knows them to be tears. He stares at the moisture on his finger for a moment, uncomprehending.

Destroy. Yes, destroy. Caelus deserves better than some shadow masquerading as a man.

A derisiveness tilts his lips amidst the haze of his vision. Yes, he is unfair indeed.

And so the tears on his face serve as an admission of guilt and an unseen apology; he takes care to dry them off of his face before Caelus flounders in, a touch of concern for the man who only knows destruction and can just barely pretend otherwise for the one he loves.

The next day, when Caelus badgers him for an opportunity to purchase new coffee beans from the supermarket in the Administrative District, Dan Heng does not argue.

Amber Era—2160; Vitals: Unbalanced, please report to a Galactic Healer immediately.

“Dan Heng.”

He stirs, opening his eyes to a dark room. Their bed is warm; Dan Heng can hear the snow pelt against the window. Caelus, for whatever reason, is sitting upright in bed. Dan Heng blinks to clear the grogginess from his eyes.

Caelus is staring at the window next to him. And his face, normally beaming with a smile or a grimace, is still.

Dan Heng hears the wind collide with the glass. Thump. “Caelus?” He does his best to keep his voice calm, but a shakiness undermines his whole act. “What are you doing? Let’s get more rest.”

Come back to me. That part goes unsaid.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Caelus turns to him, unseeing at first, with a glassy look that Dan Heng remembers was on Himeko’s face, before it clears a little with an unsure smile.

“Yeah, right. I was just shaken up by the blizzard outside, is all.”

Dan Heng swallows the, you aren’t scared of anything, and nods without another word.

As Caelus eases back under the covers, making sure to cling onto Dan Heng as he always does, something tight and unexplainable in Dan Heng’s chest morphs into something hard.

“Caelus,” he whispers once his beloved’s breaths even out. Caelus clings onto him; they are a mess of tangled limbs and touching skin. Dan Heng cradles him, cups his cheek in one hand as his tail weaves around Caelus’ legs.

“Is it as Himeko says? Do you long for the feeling of the stars?”

Dan Heng feels similar to a prisoner, in that by association he has clipped Caelus’ wings. He’s encased him in amber, like those insects fossilized as ancient relics. Dan Heng takes. Caelus gives. Dan Heng takes too much.

He presses a kiss to Caelus’ forehead, and foolishly hopes that he can be forgiven, even if just a little bit.

“You’re a what now?”

Caelus turns to him, a hint of a pout on his lips. “I already told you, didn’t I? I’m one of those star spirits!”

“But I’ve never—”

“Your data bank isn’t all-encompassing, y’know. You can be wrong, y’know.”

Dan Heng splutters and is almost a second away from dropping the book in his hand before remembering that Caelus had gifted him this book on their anniversary. Their two-week anniversary, to be exact.

“Huh. So Cold Dragon Young can make those expressions too—”

”You be quiet.” A heat rises to his cheeks, but true anger alludes him. It is difficult, difficult indeed to win against this man. Like how Caelus had barged in here and had immediately curled up on his bed, stretching weary muscles.

He wishes he could force Caelus to rest; he’s barely two days removed from being impaled by ice.

Caelus. His dove. His trailblazer. If Dan Heng stays by his side, he’s most certainly going to burn.

“Anyway,” Caelus waves a hand, “yes, I’m a star spirit.”

He says that as if those two words have any meaning on their own.

Dan Heng closes his book to look at Caelus. They lay on the small mat he calls a bed, barely able to fit, if at all. “Yes, but,” for some reason a small hesitation stills him for a split second, “what makes you different from other species?”

“Oh, that?” Caelus doesn’t lift his eyes from his book. “Isn’t it obvious? Star spirits like stars.”

A pause. “That’s it?”

“Yup. Can’t get enough of ‘em.”

“Huh?” It isn’t often that Dan Heng feels this confused.

Finally, Caelus meets his eyes, sees that he’s serious, and sighs. “Star spirits, as malleable lifeforms, are able to withstand great imbalances in spirit. Meaning that we can hold a Stellaron—well, maybe. And the star thing, well, stars are more of a necessity for us, if you catch my meaning.”

He doesn’t. He opens his mouth, but Caelus changes the subject just as swiftly as when he brought it up.

It isn’t until much later (and much more research) that Dan Heng fully grasps what Caelus had meant.

“Caelus.”

The man in question starts, whirling around with surprising swiftness. “Dan Heng!”

Caelus’ voice is high, too high, and there’s something about it that makes panic bloom in his chest.

Because Caelus was making to leave. That in and of itself is routine. What is not, however, is that Caelus has one foot out of their bedroom window.

“Caelus,” he says, and his voice somehow remains stern. Strict. His arms tremble at his sides. He crosses them. Caelus looks at him like a dove to a birdkeeper. “Where are you going?”

An almost imperceptible tightening of his face. Even from the doorway, Dan Heng can see the sheen of sweat on Caelus’ face, the ashen, colorless skin as a product of unrestful nights, interrupted too often with a gasping breath..

“Dan Heng, I—” Caelus winces, “It’s—”

It was supposed to be theirs. Their coffee shop. Their customers, few and far in between but treated with such kindness and warmth and starlight from a certain gray-haired man. Theirs. And now, theirs feels so far away.

Caelus. Caelus is leaving—

Dan Heng is gripping something hard. He looks down. An arm. Muscle, smaller now with disuse but still his. Suddenly, Caelus’ face is so much closer; he can feel the roar of the wind outside, the snow wetting his skin. He’s whispering without knowing what he’s saying at all:

“Don’t leave me.”

Caelus’ eyes widen. The grip on his arm is most surely trembling now, in fear, in love, in the idea that Caelus is now a necessity. In the idea that Caelus soothes his dragon heart and convinces him that he’s not destruction.

“The Stellaron. Last night, when you were up in bed, did it—?”

Their eyes meet—a cross between the steady gold and the shaking of a leaf—before Caelus opens his mouth, “No, it’s not what you’re thinking, it’s just—”

“No? No?” Dan Heng can’t stop a crazed sort of laughter from spilling out of him, like he’s bleeding and no matter how much pressure he applies it continues to ooze out without regard. “Then we have more time, right? You don’t—you don’t need to leave right?”

“Dan Heng.” At his name, the laughter bubbling out stops dead in his chest, and in its absence does cold grow. Cold like a realization. Cold like the blizzard pushing into their bedroom.

Caelus repeats it, for extra emphasis, “Dan Heng.” That name. Once, hearing it was salvation. “I have to go soon. The stars call for me as much as they do you.”

Wrong. And just like that day at the Scalegorge Waterscape, Dan Heng feels something in his heart frost over.

Even as Caelus relents with a soft “okay”, pulling his leg back and away from the unrelenting snow outside. Even as Caelus smiles at him and takes his hand. Even as Caelus pulls him into the kitchen to prepare more coffee for people who never arrive, for shadows that never relent.

A star spirit. When one is close to death, they are drawn—

No, they must—

—return to the stars.

Night arrives, and despite seeming otherwise, Caelus does not sleep.

He fidgets, turning around and around and squeezing the blanket into thin rope by the time he finally settles down with an audible sigh.

Dan Heng has not closed his eyes once. He stares at the ceiling—beyond it even, into the blizzard that continues to rage outside. The foundation of their shop-turned-home shudders, and for a while Dan Heng worries if the entire thing will crash down at its base.

Another sigh. This time with words. “Do you think we’re not famous yet because of our location?”

That is what Caelus has to say? Nothing about Dan Heng forcing him back inside, like a frightened child desperate for warmth. Nothing about his mask cracking; nothing about just how crazed he sounded.

Will he force Caelus to remain here? Will he force Caelus to his deathbed trapped in the walls of a home much too small for a spirit?

Outside the wind knocks against their window, as if inviting itself inside.

“No,” he replies, before he cannot keep up the charade any longer. “Why… did you agree to stay earlier?”

I have to go soon. Caelus had said. And yet, here he remains. Here he remains, pointedly facing Dan Heng.

Dan Heng cannot find it in himself to meet those eyes boring holes into the side of his head.

“Because you didn’t want me to leave—”

“What?” Something rears in him, ugly and black and hateful. It dares him to make Caelus hate him. It dares him to stop Caelus’ kindness from seeping into his bones, weaving into the coldness of his heart—his unfeeling dragon heart—and making a human out of him. He cannot hear—does not want to hear. “You… what does it matter to you?” A Vidyadhara does not feel. Permanence. Enduring. They are not so easily swayed. He’s a sinner. It is by associating with him that Caelus got hurt. It has to be. “You—Face reality already. You’re dying. You don’t need my word to leave. You don’t want to be here, right? Then go. Go frolic with those stars that you love so much. Because—”

Because every moment you spend here with me makes me hope.

Because every moment reminds me that I can be human too.

Aeons, the greatest disaster in his life is falling in love with a star; the greatest blessing in his life is falling in love with Caelus.

Something warm brushes against his shoulder. Caelus’ arm holds him in a half-moon arc. He seethes like a man possessed, ready to nudge it off—

“—And it is as you said before. I have more time. The Stellaron is still here,” Caelus murmurs, close to his ear. He grabs Dan Heng’s stiff arm and guides it to the hollow of his heart—where his heart should be.

For Caelus does not have a heartbeat. He does not have a heart. A silent moment passes in between them, long enough for Dan Heng to feel a buzzing sensation underneath his fingertips. He recognizes it as the murmur of the Stellaron.

“See? More time.” And finally, Dan Heng looks away from the ceiling. Caelus meets his eyes with a smile on his face, one soft enough to chase all thoughts from his mind. Bright. Like a torch. Like a beacon of hope he desperately wishes to extinguish.

Dan Heng scrambles for the vestiges of his anger. But when he comes up empty, he simply asks, “Does it hurt?”

“No.” A pause. A lie. “Although I finally understand why you people need sleep.”

Liar, he wants to say. What comes out instead is:

“Then why does it hurt so much for me?”

Caelus laughs then, a weak one. “That’s what it means to love.”

A sliver of regret, but Caelus will never blame him for dragging him down a path ordained by his karma.

They do not push the subject any further.

Something akin to normalcy returns to their little café, and as the weeks pass, Dan Heng begins to wonder if what had transpired was just a dream.

He would be more certain if Caelus’ condition didn’t deteriorate.

Their friends from the Express had arrived earlier in the day, eagerly chatting about a world named Penacony. Caelus grins throughout the recollection of their adventures, but it is notably strained, enough to make March stop mid-sentence and question it.

“No, I’m okay,” he says, practiced and measured, “just tired.”

Tired. Dan Heng knows that it is the opposite. Caelus moves with twice the energy and twice the pain. Their coffee shop is much too small, even as Caelus is now gasping with pain when faced with walking the length of the dining area.

March frowns, “Do you think getting fresh air will help?”

Caelus looks at her for a bit, a trace of a smile on his face. “No,” he says, light as a feather, “I don’t think it will.”

Something hangs for a bit in the air. Dan Heng balls his hands into fists from behind the register and looks down.

Rest. Half an Amber Era. Caelus has had both of them and more. The hourglass trickles, unrelenting. Release. Like a dove who may spread its wings, star spirits soar the galaxy. They do not have homes. They are not tied to anything or anyone. Not even for this asinine feeling called love.

Love. Somewhere along the way, that word had started to feel more and more like a deadweight bearing down on his chest. Love hurts. Dragons do not love. To love is to cast away those shadows clinging to his back; to love is to stare them in the eye and say:

“No. This is not what I want.”

He did not know that he had said that aloud until someone responds, distinct enough to cut through Caelus’ friendly chatter.

“Then, what do you want?”

Himeko. A while back, anger had surged within him at her accusations. But now, her soft voice reminds him a bit of a certain star. He does not look up, even as he whispers:

“I’m tired. Tired of this.”

“Of what?”

He feels scared, genuinely scared. He feels tired; he feels loved; he feels too much. He’s not ready to move on. Caelus deserves better. His mind spins in a hundred different directions; his hands remain tightly balled.

Fear. March’s eyes are filled with fear as Phantylia’s form gives way to a small flame. He opens his mouth to say something, anything, that can excuse his actions, his rage.

Be better.

In the end, he says nothing at all.

These nights, and as he has been for a while now, Dan Heng traces the outline of constellations on Caelus’ back. He knows that neither of them sleep now, as if savoring every second left within.

Caelus squirms; Dan Heng hears an intake of air as he opens his mouth to say something.

Dan Heng waits. Nothing passes through Caelus’ mouth, even as light pierces their frosted windows and the two of them rise to prepare a cup of coffee.

Amber Era—2161; Vitals: Please reconnect to the host—downloading… Target unresponsive.

“D-Dan Heng.”

“Caelus.”

“Dan… Heng,” Caelus rasps from their bed, “do you have—any water?”

Even like this, his tone remains light. Mundane. His eyes widen; something shifts in him, and whatever he wants to say is replaced by what he must do.

Not even a day had passed since Caelus had collapsed to the kitchen floor, coffee beans spewing in all different directions like that of a splatter of blood, dark and foreboding. Dan Heng had rushed over, heart beating out at a pace of acceptance—

—“How do I know that it is time, Lady Bailu?”

“Hmph!” Bailu turns to him in the small crack of her clinic. The scent of herbs tickle his nose; they remind him so much of life that he feels the urge to fidget. And there are seemingly thousands of cabinets and tonics shoved in crevices, and he really does feel uncomfortable—

You do not know, you feel. So it’s whenever you feel is right. It’s when you’re—” and she stares so deeply at him he feels sweat drip down his back, “—ready to move on.”

“You’re certain, then? About Caelus’ condition?”

“It’s been a week since his initial collapse. He’s entered steady decline ever since.” Her objective, succinct relay finally cracks, revealing a hesitance. “I’m certain.”

Dan Heng reels back, barely latching onto the rock of the archway to her clinic. Destroy. He’s destroyed in every life. Is this why he is not allowed to hold someone who gives? Fear. March’s eyes as Phantylia screams. Love. Caelus’ eyes, smiling as he cups Dan Heng’s cheek.

He should have never forgotten that dragons do not feel.

Caelus is pure, Caelus is not—he’s never—

“Caelus is going to die.”

Dan Heng had propped Caelus’ head up. Bailu stares at him: “He needs rest.” He had shook Caelus’ body, wetted his face with tears that may have once been sadness, and hauled him to their bed.

“Theirs” falls away; it has only and has always been them.

And now, Caelus blinks at him, having regained consciousness sometime between his fall and the transfer to the bed, and asks him for some water.

Death. Life. Death is… truly mundane.

Oh. Oh. It hits him then. His eyes open wide, unable to close them and pretend for a second that this reality is not unfurling before him. It clicks. Oh. The stars link in the sky and the leaves tremble and the wind whistles its worn sound outside.

And the coldness, a persistent thing that had been with him since the beginning, melts away.

Oh. He laughs, watery and bright and most definitely out of nowhere because Caelus somehow musters the strength to send him a look of what are you doing? He summons an orb from his dormant cloudhymn magic he refused to use for the longest time because that palpable fear and concentrates.

Immediately, in the small room, rain droplets manifest from seemingly nothing and pelt the carpet, darkening it like the glide of a shadow he’s spent most of his life escaping. Crystal clear tears of moisture return to the land—the world itself—and with a flick of power it strengthens. Sheets of rain cover the room like a curtain unfurling and furling and Dan Heng feels a giddy smile on his face because—

This. This is what he wants. To be nothing and everything all at once. To be the rain itself, to meld into one entity and return to just being him.

This. To create rain for his beloved. For his beloved to smile back, throw off the covers and struggle to his feet. For his concern to melt away because they are free. Free for Dan Heng to grasp Caelus’ hand tightly, to hold him close, to smooth thumbpads over wet cheeks and moist lips.

This. Them. Mundane.

And as the last of the rain ebbs and the downpour fades, he intertwines their fingers and kisses Caelus. Kisses him like he’s wanted to do all along. Kisses him as if he’s flying on paper-thin wings, passionate and burning.

“Caelus. You never cease to surprise me,” he says—whispers—and presses his forehead against a rain-soaked one. And feels the hollow of a chest without its whisper.

The man in his arms trembles from overexertion but gives a hearty laugh. “Have I finally rubbed off on you? Aeons, sometimes you think way too far ahead.”

“Maybe too far into the past.”

“Oh, yes,” Caelus huffs with a hint of amusement, “that too.”

“…Did you get the water you requested?”

“Yes. An overabundance, as you like to say. Really, what’s with the sudden change? Not that I mind the rain; it’s been a while.”

“You won’t believe me when I say that it’s you?”

“Har har, me dying gives you inspiration?”

He should know better than anyone else. Death does not mean the end. It means the end of the beginning. The sins on his back are proof. Rain, to cleanse them both. He’s tired. He’s tired of stopping himself from hoping. Tired of letting these shadows and superstitions reign over him.

Foreboding. A cycle. Rage. Hate. Everything in between.

The coffee shop is warm. Love. He is capable of love.

Dragons do not love. Yet he is a dragon, and he loves Caelus as one would a star. So is it that improbable for another miracle to happen?

“Maybe it’s your insistence at treating life like a game. Or maybe it’s how you hope.”

You’re overestimating me. I just… don’t think death should be sad.”

Ah. So that’s why Caelus had never spoken about it much. “I’m scared.” Caelus had said once, but never had he said that he would be sad. Dan Heng assumed he was unwilling to accept death; an unwillingness to accept meant that it would be on the distant horizon.

No, Dan Heng himself is the one who could not accept death.

Despite the fate that led them together. Despite the life that gave him Caelus.

“I’m a fool, aren’t I?”

“Maybe just a little,” Caelus shrugs, “although me trying to leave that time was pretty scummy, I’m not gonna lie.”

“And how do you not blame me for all of this?”

“It’s not your fault. I will say that no matter what you think; however much time it will take for you to believe me.”

Time? Time falls away. Time makes way for the two of them. This is not the end. Dan Heng won’t let it be. The shadows behind him snicker derisively, his karma remains unpaid. They whisper against him. They whisper in that voice of permanence.

He ignores it as best as he can. “There’s one thing you haven’t told me about star spirits, right?”

”Oh?” Caelus pulls away enough for Dan Heng to see a hint of a challenge rising in his eyes, “and what would that be?”

“You reincarnate.” Dan Heng smiles. “Just like me.”

“Hm, I’m not going to confirm or deny.”

“You can’t hide it, y’know.”

Caelus’ eyes laugh in spite of his indifferent façade. “What makes you say that?”

“I don’t know,” Dan Heng shrugs. “You care as little about death as I do, I’ve realized.”

“Not everyone throws themselves so recklessly at enemies as you do.”

“Not everyone asks for water on their deathbed.”

Water. Insignificant, yet the foundation of all life.

Dan Heng smiles. “Hopefully you could drink some of my offering.”

“Didn’t I already say that there was an… overabundance?”

“Don’t say that so seriously!” He laughs; Caelus grins; the sands of their hourglass trickle until nothing remains except the two of them. In their home. In their café.

The café truly is them.

Them in the shadows drawn over white walls at night. Them in those stupidly cute chairs and flower cups and saucers. Them as the bitterness of Dan Heng’s coffee and the sweetness of Caelus’.

“…You can go now.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Mhm,” Dan Heng says, wrapping Caelus in a wet, sloppy hug. “I mean it.”

“You’re not gonna cry ugly tears when I do?”

“No promises.” He’s speaking into Caelus’ jacket, the fabric of his shoulder tickling him. “But it’s not like you’ll be able to tell with these raindrops on my face.”

“Oh c’mon. I thought you trusted me more than that.” Caelus raises a trembling hand to rub Dan Heng’s back. They don’t bring up how Dan Heng is practically holding him up at this point.

“You aren’t excited to leave? To move on from these Amber Eras of pain and constant exhaustion?”

“And who said I wanted to leave?” Caelus’ voice is moist in his ear, laced with a faint undercurrent of fear. I’m scared, he had said once. “I would endure a million more in crippling pain if it meant I could stay here with you.”

Then stay. He bites back those words and tears mist in his eyes. “Caelus.” A set jaw, burning gold eyes as he said: I have to go. Now, Dan Heng knows that those words were directed at him just as much as they were directed at himself.

“You have to go.”

A star spirit deserves more than this home in the coldest planet in the galaxy.

Caelus deserves more than to be in constant pain. He deserves more than a coffee shop and Dan Heng’s cold embraces; he deserves more than the constant rapping of the wind of the window. He deserves to live freely.

Like a dove, whose chains have been clipped.

“Go. Go be free.”

“Dan Heng.” Caelus’ voice trembles, thick with glistening tears. “I need to tell you that I—there’s a chance that I might not—”

“Shh.”

He continues, as if a crack tore through what little measure he had. Dan Heng’s heart aches for him. For the one who hopes so dearly.  “I don’t know if—”

“I know,” Dan Heng says, “I already know.”

Dan Heng opens a book from the countless tomes piled up on his bed. It is strange, this obsession with whatever Caelus is, but Dan Heng no longer cares enough to evaluate his actions based on logic.

His eyes skim the text, unseeing, before suddenly shifting into focus.

“‘Star spirits,” he says, reading aloud to an audience of stars outside his window, “‘do not always take a tangible form. When they are injured, their form dissolves into stardust to become one with the galaxy. While there are multiple outcomes after this, one thing is for certain:

“‘They are never the same.’”

That is the root of things, isn’t it? Change. Fear. But for the Vidyadhara, for him, the swirl of the Scalegorge Waterscape strips them bare. Equalizing. Bare from frivolous memories and the incessant cling of sin—free as the waters converge and swallow them whole and weave the shell of an egg from their flesh. The endless sea does not part, it coalesces—tight and suffocating and cage-like.

And yet, when Dan Heng first opened his eyes in the lightless dungeon, those waters had been the nourishment a weary soul feasted on. Time falls away; destiny takes its place.

Caelus lets out a mournful wail, for time waits for no one.

And as Dan Heng pulls back, as a feather-width appears between them, Caelus stubbornly clings onto his hand, practically slouching against it.

“I love you, Dan Heng.”

He gives love away so freely, so Dan Heng greedily commits his countenance to memory instead. Memories, knowledge—there is no difference between them. Caelus’ face shines with a desperate love; it pools into his eyes as two mirrors of lava. His lips tremble, just as the first tears trail down his face.

He remembers Caelus’ love; he knows Caelus’ love.

Dan Heng tugs Caelus closer too forcefully; they fall into a heap on the floor, Dan Heng being careful to take the brunt of the impact. It does not hurt. Not one bit.

Caelus. He looks up at the ceiling and all he sees is gold, wavering, trembling, beautiful. Tears drip down onto Dan Heng’s cheek. He laughs, “Now who’s making it rain?”

Don’t cry. He reaches up, brushing the corner of one of those golden orbs before the moisture within can fall.

“Smile for me?” He’s being selfish. “One last time?”

And Caelus does. Indulgent as ever, Caelus does.

A kaleidoscope of light in front of him. It lifts up his eyes; lifts up his lips; lifts up his spirit and now, suddenly, Dan Heng feels as if he’s traversing the galaxy, nothing to hold onto than the hand of his beloved, fingers intertwined with laughter in its vacuum.

“I love you, Caelus,” he breathes, and he cannot stop himself. Dan Heng loops a hand to the back of Caelus’ head, presses it down, and kisses him.

Their last kiss does not burn him; it scorches him. A mess of hot breaths and fallen tears and a subtle promise to never let go.

Time waits for no one. Dan Heng closes his eyes as Caelus draws away, a hair’s breadth away from his lips. A sob builds, in him or Caelus he does not know. He does not want to see his love disappear into starlight.

He does not need to see. He feels the supernova of light recede, as if a sudden blizzard doused the weakening rays of a star come nightfall; he feels the bleeding warmth of someone who has given all his life and finally, finally took something in return fade away with nary a breath.

He hears birdcall in the sudden absence of life. Dusk approaches and the doves outside stir from their slumber, eyes opening and wings unfurling to greet the passage of time.

—The flowers we offer you fall with dignity.