Archive of Our Own

I’m back here again.

Caelus fixes his gaze on the colourless ceiling he has spent the past decade of his life staring at. In all his years of ending up here, the hospital never became anything closer to a place he can properly call home. The pungent stench of anaesthesia still nauseates him, and the chill of the artificial air still makes him want to crawl out of the hospital gown and into his own clothes. Caelus doesn’t try to move his arms—he can feel that his body is much weaker than what it used to be when he was told, at fifteen years old, that he had a regressive medical condition that would eat away at his body until he suffers a death that he won’t be able to escape. 

Every time his life gets a little bearable and he makes the mistake of thinking that, maybe, for once, his health won’t stand in the way of everything he has ever wanted, something so horrible happens that he is left with no recollection of his happiness when he reawakes in a hospital bed. Growing up, he was consumed by his hatred for the world—he couldn’t understand why his friends got to go on field trips but he had to go to the doctors’ for his routine check-ups, why his friends were allowed to eat fast food but he was stuck on a strict diet, and why his friends were told to chase after their dreams but he was told to let them go. Many think, when they look at him, that he mustn’t have had any ambitions if he fell sick during his teenagehood. They’re wrong about him. 

Caelus has had dreams. He wanted to travel the world with his sister, Stelle, and collect mementos from all the places he visits. Even though no one took him seriously when he pitched the idea as a child, he clung to it as he grew older and older, believing that someday he would pursue his dreams. These ambitions meant nothing the first time he woke up in this hospital bed and, through his bleary eyes, saw his parents sobbing at the end of his bed while waiting for him to wake up. The deterioration of his body has made it so that he’s no longer fit to venture off to far places once he hits twenty, and recently, he hasn’t been able to go anywhere close by either. 

At times, Caelus rewatches the vlogs he used to record with his sister during their early teenagehood. They weren’t great at articulating themselves at that age so they would speak a few lines into the camera then burst out laughing about something pointless, like pigeons duelling in the middle of the sidewalk or a stranger with a funny haircut. The camerawork was shabby and sometimes, they wouldn’t clean the lens of their phones so the quality would be blurry but what matters most is that they were always smiling. 

Caelus imagines a wide-screen television opening up from the ceiling above him. He recalls, from his distant memory, a video of him and Stelle at a beach where his phone was nearly pecked out of his hands by a demonic seagull, building sandcastles and talking about how they would travel to every country in the world. He chews on his lower lip, biting back a tear at the memory. Why did things have to turn out this way?

At some point, Caelus hears the door slide open. He rolls his head against the pillow to find Kafka, the doctor who has been overseeing his condition for the last few years, walking towards him with a wistful smile. He can tell that she doesn’t have good news—he can feel the illness taking his life away. His exhaustion has sunk deep into his bones and his cheekbones have started to show against his skin because of how rapidly he’s been losing weight. Caelus reciprocates a weak smile in greeting. 

“Good morning, Caelus,” Kafka says, pausing beside his bed. She analyses the data on the monitors and starts jotting down notes on her clipboard. As she runs her daily checks, she inquires, “Rough night?” 

Caelus shrugs. “I don’t remember anymore.” 

She continues writing, the scratching of her pencil adding to the white noise in the room. Caelus scans his ward for search of anything to occupy his time with now that he’s stuck here again. The empty space stares back at him, driving him so close to the limits of his boredom that he wants to pull all of the tubes out of his arms and run back home. 

“Can I go back home?” Caelus questions, his eyes glassy from exhaustion.

Kafka presses her lips together, a certain look washing over her eyes that gives Caelus an answer before she opens her mouth again. He visibly deflates, his lips quivering faintly as he tries to keep his smile on his face. He blinks back his tears, trying to stay strong in front of his doctor. “I’m sorry, Caelus,” she replies, placing a hand over his to comfort him. “Your condition has worsened since your check-up a month ago. It doesn’t seem like you will be able to go home for a while.” 

Caelus’s hands ball into fists under the cover of his blanket. Voice shaking, he asks, “Not even by the weekend?” 

Kafka shakes her head, struggling to hold her own smile in place. “No. But I’m sure your parents and your sister will keep you company. It will feel like you’ve been at home this entire time.” 

He has heard these words too many times to know that they aren’t true. Nothing compares to the satisfaction of falling asleep in his own bed, wearing his own clothes and eating the food that he makes with his hands. There is nothing that the hospital can do to replicate this feeling, especially when this place has become a symbol of his crushed hopes and dreams. As much as he vehemently disagrees, Caelus nods, giving Kafka the chance to believe that her advice helped him feel a little better. 

Once Kafka flips back to the first page attached to her clipboard, Caelus recognises that she has completed her check-ups for the morning. He stares at her, contemplating whether he should voice the unspoken question that hangs in the air between them. “Doctor,” he speaks up meekly. 

She hums in acknowledgement. 

“Am I going to die soon?”

Kafka presses her clipboard against her chest, observing her frail patient. She pauses, thinking of the right way to frame her words, even though she knows after all her years of experience that there’s no simple way of telling someone the brutal truth that they’re nearing the end. “It’s hard to say for sure,” Kafka answers. “We’re waiting on your blood test results before we can confirm anything but don’t lose hope, Caelus.” 

Caelus lets out a rueful laugh. “I can feel it. I know I’m about to die.”

“Don’t think that way. Let’s wait for your results to come back before you prepare yourself for the worst,” Kafka tells him, still holding out hope that there’s a chance that she can save him. Their relationship has only ever existed within the confines of patient and doctor, but it’s obvious that Kafka has come to care about Caelus. In his earlier days of being here, he would tell her so much about himself and his aspirations with such sparkling eyes that she started to believe that the universe wouldn’t be so cruel as to take another light from this world to add to its constellations. 

In due time, Kafka has learned that leaving her faith in the universe will inevitably cause sorrow and so she does the best that she can as a doctor without making false promises.

When Kafka leaves again, the loneliness nestles in Caelus’ chest again. Happiness has been a fickle and temporary thing for as long as he can remember, becoming even more of a stranger to him since he realised he would lose everything to forces beyond his control. As much as Stelle loves him and tries to put a smile on his face, there is only so much she can do for him without ruining her life. Her visits reduce from once every day to three days a week now, and he suspects they will reduce even more once she starts her new job. Occasionally, the loneliness morphs into resentment and he has to grab the feeling by its neck and wrench it out of himself—he has no right to blame anyone for his own misery, after all. 

Caelus doesn’t have a plan for what he’s going to do for as long as he’s here. It’s not like he has any hobbies that can take his mind off the fact that he’s stuck to a hospital bed for as far he can look ahead into his future. There is nothing about the outside world that means anything anymore. His love for summer withered away, much like the flowers do when the weather becomes frosty and cold. There was a knife-cut noodles place he liked going to with his friends from college, but he can’t stomach that anymore. There is no one for him to meet—no one who can bear to see him in this hollowed out, sickly version of the bright boy he once was. 

Closing his eyes, Caelus hopes to god that the world will take his pain away and put him to sleep. 

───────

When he falls asleep, Caelus dreams for the first time in a decade. 

His consciousness awakes in complete darkness. He pushes himself onto his knees, looking around him in a daze to find that he’s surrounded by swirling dark clouds. The winds are harsh. They nip at his skin and pry him off the little balance he has in his body, like he’s a mere particle being thrashed around. Caelus stretches his arms out, trying to search for anything to hold onto in the darkness, but he starts to stumble harder and panic cripples him before he can rationalise a plan. Caelus tries to call out but the words never leave his mouth. He grabs his throat, opens his mouth and tries to muster strength from every fibre of his lungs to shout, but the world is completely silent around him. 

Starting to believe that there’s nothing he can do to save himself, Caelus stops trying to fight the winds and falls back onto his knees, his head lowered onto his lap. Then, what feels like the feather weight of a hand presses on his shoulder, prompting him to look up. Beyond the storm, Caelus sees light—the only illumination there is in a world that has blackened like tar. 

Consumed by desperation, Caelus crawls back onto his feet and wades through the storm, running towards the light. The dark clouds disperse, as if to clear a path for him to work towards the light. As he stumbles closer and closer the light becomes so blinding that he has to put his arm over his eyes to shield them. Like the sun has been pulled down from the sky to meet him in person, the throbbing brightness beckons him closer. It swims in the eyes that have been consumed by the darkness of sorrow for so long, engulfing Caelus the way a deprived man embraces his lover. 

Caelus’ tears become vapour as he lets his body collapse into the warmth of a fire so powerful that any human who dares to come close would become ash. 

───────

“Caelus?”

Colours fade back into Caelus’ vision as he is pulled abruptly out of the shackles of his dream. The intense light is gone now, and he realises belatedly that none of it was real. When he properly awakes, he is met with the same view of the ceiling light, boring into his eyes like an artificial sun. He can feel Kafka’s presence lingering by his bedside again—still disoriented from the strange dream that has already started to fade out of his memory, he remains silent. His body feels heavier, fatigue weighing down on his bones. He can barely regulate his breathing and the acute pain in his chest is starting to get worse. 

“Are you feeling okay?” Kafka asks, concern etched into her features. “It looked like you were having a nightmare and your breathing was starting to become more unsteady.” 

“I’m fine,” Caelus replies, sounding duller than usual. Feeling a particular soreness in his lower back return, he pushes his palms against his bed and slides up against his pillow. Things like this used to be so easy for him, but movement has become so difficult these days that it takes most of his energy to do anything simple. His muscles have started to waste away, and the more weight he loses, the less strength he has left. Pressing a hand against his chest, he counts each breath until it stops feeling like he’s losing control over himself. 

Kafka doesn’t ask further questions. Having worked with Caelus for so long, she knows there are days when his desire for a conversation never seems to end, and there are many others when he doesn’t speak at all. “You should have breakfast,” she reminds once she’s done checking the data on the monitors. “You haven’t eaten in two days, which is going to make you feel weaker and more tired. The nurse will be bringing your meal soon, so do your best to finish it, okay?” 

Caelus nods, averting his gaze to the window. The yellowed leaves of the trees sway as a cold gust of wind brushes past them, making Caelus wish he could be outside to feel it for himself. He can’t say that he enjoys cold weather in particular, but he misses feeling things—he misses the feeling of being blown off his feet when the wind gets too strong, of running through the rain, of feeling his body heat up from the inside when it gets too chilly. His expression grows wistful in seconds. Timidly, Caelus says, “I want to go for a walk.”

Kafka purses her lips in thought. She clicks the end of her pen against the clipboard. “It would be a good idea to have a nurse accompany you to make sure you’re safe.” 

Caelus sighs. He lays his palms open against the blanket and stares at the system of veins beneath the surface of his skin, appearing to him like a river system that has branched out into countless distributaries. He imagines a younger and freer version of himself running with his chest held high and his nose upturned to the sky, not fearful of the water under his feet or his body becoming ruin if he pushes it too hard. He’s tempted to say no —to argue that it’s unfair that he’s either completely alone or is followed around by nurses who are so wary around him, it feels like he’s dying next week. Caelus chews on his bottom lip, doing his utmost best not to ruin the little good he’s being offered. 

“Okay,” Caelus relents, despite every fragment of his soul pleading for him to disagree. 

Making a mental note to assign a nurse to Caelus, Kafka exits the ward. Not long later, a cart is rolled in with an assortment of food in containers made out of recycled bamboo. A tray is placed down on Caelus’ lap, containing a circular bowl of porridge and a plastic cup filled with water. Even whilst covered by the thin plastic wrapping, it has a distinctly unappetising look to it that makes Caelus not want to eat at all. 

He knows, however, that he won’t be let outside if the doctors have the impression that his eating habits have worsened as well. So, with nimble hands, he peels the wrapping off the bowl and shovels his spoon into the pale mass of boiled rice and vegetables. 

Shutting his eyes, Caelus brings the food into his mouth and has to grip his sheets tighter when he lurches. 

───────

The garden at the back of the hospital isn’t as beautiful during autumn as it is during summer.  

As soon as he steps outside, the weight of his body leaning forward on his walking stick, he notices how many of the flowers that he loves have withered away alongside his favourite season. The stone paths are covered in piles of dried leaves, inviting all sorts of creatures to crawl out of the soil and make a home out of them. The benches placed within a few metres of each other are also covered in a combination of withered flowers and leaves, not as clean as they are earlier in the year when the plants are in full bloom. The hedges cushioning the path lead to a pond not too far away from the back entrance of the hospital, where Caelus would often play with the terrapins during his hospital stays. 

Caelus has walked this path on several occasions throughout his life. On the bench closest to the pond, Caelus would make his parents wait with a bottle of fish food in hands while he spent the next hour trying to converse with the terrapins and feeding them. It’s at that bench where Stelle read out his acceptance letter into the college that has been his second home since he became a part of it. At the time, he had undergone such a severe relapse because of his stress that he couldn’t even be home to respond to his acceptance emails until his discharge a week later. Caelus also celebrated his twenty-first birthday here—he was so sure that day that he wouldn’t be able to make any happy memories, only to be surprised by his friends and family during his walk. 

While the air is filled with poignant nostalgia as Caelus navigates the path, there is also a lingering bitterness that settles in his gut. It’s unfair that most of the milestones in his life have had to occur while he was stuck in this depressing place, being too sick to go to places he would actually like to see. He has come to accept it, somewhat, but these feelings come and go just as the fickle weather changes everyday.

Feeling a little tired after a few minutes of walking, Caelus mumbles to the nurse, “I’m going to sit down.” He settles down on the bench closest to him, his knees giving way before he can bend them enough to sit down such that he falls harshly against the wood. He grimaces, but quickly moves away from the nurse’s touch when she reaches out to support him. He tells her, “You can leave me alone for a few minutes. I won’t go anywhere—I just need some space.” 

The nurse agrees on the condition that he remains seated down in one place, and leaves to take a round around the garden. This leaves Caelus to take in the tranquil scenery with a clearer mind, no longer conscious about having someone trail behind him and scrutinise his every movement for signs of illness. He raises his head to look at the sun between the gaps of the leaves, a small smile blossoming on his face. For once, it feels like he can hear his thoughts without being interrupted every few seconds by beeping and mechanical whirring. 

Caelus decides to sit with his eyes closed for a few minutes, embracing the tickle of the breeze blowing through his hair. He doesn’t notice it when a stranger takes a stand in front of him, eyeing him with innocent fascination. “Good morning,” he greets, some time later. 

“Ah—” Caelus jumps out of his skin at the sudden sound, hastily lowering his head to address the man in front of him. His hand instinctively reaches for his chest to calm down his rapid heart rate. “Hello,” he fumbles out a greeting, still surprised by the unexpected approach. 

“May I sit with you?” 

Caelus glances at the nearby benches in his peripheral vision, and notices that most of them are empty. Caelus can’t imagine why a stranger would take the time out of his day to speak to him when anyone would know from a quick look at him that he doesn’t have long before he dies. There used to be a time when he tried to speak to other patients, sometimes the people that frequent in and out of the hospital. None of these lasted long enough to become friendships—some of the patients got discharged, others passed away, and visitors rarely had the time or emotional capacity to involve themselves in his affairs. So, Caelus can’t help but look at the man in confusion when he hears the request. 

“You have no obligation to agree,” the stranger says after Caelus doesn’t respond. “The last thing I would like to do is make you uncomfortable. I was simply looking to keep you company.” 

Caelus’ face lights up. “I’m not uncomfortable at all—please sit.” 

Happiness flutters across the stranger’s ashy blue collarettes. A half-smile tugging at the corners of his lips, he settles down in the space beside Caelus and rubs his hands together to warm them. Perhaps it’s because this is the first time that Caelus has ever been offered someone else’s company without having to beg for it, but he can’t take his eyes off the stranger. His hair is tawny under the dewy sunlight, but looks charcoal black otherwise. His posture is incredibly upright and his shoulders are poised with confidence, unlike Caelus who might as well be a corpse with his unstable gait and hunched back. 

As much as he wants to talk, Caelus remains quiet, staring at the stranger who is so beautiful that it takes a while for him to fully grasp who he’s looking at. His cheeks flare up in a way they have many times before, but he’s sure that it isn’t because of his illness now. Clutching the seams of his jacket, he pulls the fabric over his chest and stares at his slippers. 

“My name is Dan Heng,” the man introduces, looking at Caelus with a smile. Although the silence is gone, the palpable tension in the air lingers. “You?” 

“Caelus,” the patient replies, angling his head slightly to the right to meet Dan Heng’s eyes. He’s still wary of the closeness between them, careful to hide his face as much as he can to hide the skin sagging beneath his eyelids and the ghastly paleness that makes him look like a ghost. The thrill of existing around another person that isn’t his doctors or nurses starts bubbling up within him, but there are so many questions for him to ask that he can’t even pick out the right ones. So, asking the most obvious one of all, he begins, “Why are you talking to me?”

“Can I not?” Dan Heng inquires, his expression morphing into a look of confusion. His hands fidget with the auburn scarf around his neck as he contemplates whether he’s doing something wrong—a look of such genuine concern that Caelus starts to chuckle. “I thought, perhaps, you could use the company.” 

The skin around Caelus’ eyes fold with merriment. Putting his hands between his thighs to keep them warm, he muses, “Can you read minds?”

Dan Heng cocks his head to the side, still maintaining his rather stoic demeanour. “Not quite,” he answers with a lilt of uncertainty to his tone, as if there’s any chance in the world that an ordinary human being could manage such a feat. There’s something about his ignorance that reminds Caelus of the childish wonder that he once had, when the world had been a much simpler place and his worst problem was figuring out how to eat his ice cream without letting it melt all over his hands. 

“Alright then,” Caelus replies, his laughter being suppressed by throaty coughs soon after. Before Dan Heng can ask him if he’s alright, he continues, “Do you spend your time talking to the patients here?” 

“Not all the patients,” Dan Heng confesses, looking out at the rest of the garden. An elderly man walks by in a pale blue hospital gown identical to Caelus’, supported by his wife who keeps her watchful gaze on the ground to make sure there aren’t any small rocks or pebbles that could send him for a tumble. A few benches away, there is a little girl wearing a purple beanie to cover up the fact she has no hair, weaving bracelets out of a box of beads and string she has beside her. Thoughtfully, Dan Heng adds, “There is only one me and too many people who are suffering. I’m talking to you because you looked especially lonely—more so than the rest.” 

Caelus’ smile wavers. He lets out a rueful laugh and continues to watch the elderly couple as they make their way around the path with slow and steady steps. “I doubt it,” he says, even if he knows it to be true. “I’m fortunate to have a sister, Stelle, who cares about me and parents who haven’t given up on my treatments even though the doctors told them a long time ago that I won’t live long. I also have friends from college, but I told them not to visit me because I didn’t want them to see me this way.” 

“The number of people you have in your life doesn’t necessarily determine how lonely you feel,” Dan Heng says in a sympathetic manner. He loosens his scarf around his neck to let a portion of the fabric drape over his chest so that he can tread his fingers over the patterns. “Even with these people in your life, I can tell you’re in pain.” 

“Maybe,” Caelus shrugs. There is no point trying to force the loneliness out of his life now that he’s at the open mouth of death. It has already become a part of him and it will always come back. Not wanting to waste more time lamenting about matters that won’t change the inevitable, he pivots to something more intriguing. Hoping Dan Heng will indulge his curiosity, he asks, “Do you volunteer here?” 

Dan Heng makes a particular expression that hints that Caelus’ guess is close but not quite there. He rocks his fists against his thighs in thought, searching for the right words to describe who he is. “Not exactly,” he explains, “But much of my job leads me back to the hospital one way or another.” 

Caelus assumes there must be a good reason why Dan Heng can’t put his occupation into proper words. Taking note of it, he answers, “I guess that makes us the same. Only that I come here as a patient.”

“Is it difficult?” Dan Heng asks him, a question that many think about but don’t have the courage to voice out loud for fear of being insensitive. Caelus doesn’t mind it, but in the same vein, doesn’t have an answer to it. Of course it’s difficult to live with so much uncertainty that he can’t be sure whether he’ll live to see another day, but the word itself fails to encompass how much his reality tortures him. 

“It is, but not for the reasons you think.” Caelus exhales deeply. “There is a lot of guilt that comes with knowing all the people I’m going to have to leave behind. I made many promises to my sister. I told her I would get better and we would travel the world together like we promised each other but our dreams meant nothing the moment I got diagnosed with Cystic Fibrosis. To be honest, I still don’t know what it is—all I can say is that being alive is more exhausting than it used to be.” 

“Tell me about your dreams,” Dan Heng says earnestly. 

Caelus rubs the nape of his neck awkwardly. He tilts his head to the side, deliberating for a moment whether he should put this poor man through another one of his morose speeches, when he replies, “There is nothing much to say. I wouldn’t want to bore you with my rambling.” 

“You wouldn’t,” Dan Heng insists, painfully sincere. The certainty in his eyes makes Caelus’ mind cough up a few poorly-formed sentences that dissolve into an awkward combination of sounds once they reach his mouth. He digs his fingernails into his flesh, hesitant to continue. However, Dan Heng repeats with equal confidence, “Tell me about your dreams.” 

“I wanted to travel the world and go to places far away from here,” Caelus tells him, looking up at the azure sky. He imagines an airplane passing over his head, cutting through the expanse with such speed that it leaves its path etched among the white and blue for a distinct few moments before the clouds accumulate again. “I had a whole plan about how I would record videos and post them on social media. I would bring the world to everyone else and I would someday become famous enough that I wouldn’t have to travel on my own money because I would have sponsorships and brand deals.” 

“That’s a nice dream to have,” Dan Heng tells him, speaking from the bottom of his heart. It’s been a long time since Caelus has had anyone properly listen to him, like they’re really trying to get to know him and not find out what went wrong with him. Having Dan Heng sympathise with him is such a foreign experience that it’s almost dizzying and makes him wonder whether he’s hallucinating.

“Dan Heng, do you have dreams?” 

Dan Heng watches a squirrel dash across the pavement and run up a tree. “No,” he answers, lacking the sadness of a man who doesn’t have ambition. “People like me don’t have dreams.” 

“That can’t be possible,” Caelus retorts in disbelief. “Everybody has dreams.” 

Dan Heng makes an expression like he means to disagree, but when he glimpses at Caelus’ glassy eyes, his words soften into a response more sanguine. “Maybe I haven’t decided yet,” he hums, considering a possibility that has never crossed his mind before. “I will think about it.” 

Then, as if to cut their conversation short before they lapse into silence again, Caelus’ nurse returns to bring him back into the hospital. An hour has passed since she left Caelus to sit on his own, but in that time, it feels like he has lived an entire lifetime—one where his lungs can breathe without caving in on him and he can run without his head spinning and he dies only after achieving everything he has ever wanted. The nurse reaches out to him, helping him rise onto his feet without losing his balance. 

“I guess this is it, then,” Caelus tells Dan Heng once he’s back on his feet. Some part of him wishes he doesn’t have to leave, but his life has become such a cruel cycle of farewells that he knows the most painless thing he can do is to accept that this is how it has to be. Smiling, he expresses his gratitude, “Thank you for talking to me.” 

Dan Heng nods. “You don’t owe me any gratitude. I did this because I wanted to.”

“Take care,” Caelus wishes him, but by this point, the nurse has already started to lead him away. Once Caelus turns on his heel and starts hobbling back to the hospital, the nurse glances over her shoulder at the bench with her eyebrows stitched together, wondering why Caelus was talking to thin air.  

───────

A week passes before Caelus runs into Dan Heng again, but the circumstances aren’t as kind when they reunite.

Instead of the spot that he has been frequenting for the last few days with hopes of encountering the stranger again, Caelus takes a seat at the bench near the terrapin pond. His hands limp on his lap, he stares blankly at the surface of the water, where the reflection of the trees distort to become unintelligible shapes. Though the world is quiet, there is a storm in Caelus’ mind, consuming him with thoughts that bring him closer to the brink of tears. The shock that he felt when he looked at his blood test results earlier in the morning hasn’t left him even though it’s already noon, and he’s at a complete loss for what to do except sob.

There might have been a time in the past when Caelus would have broken down into a loud, agonising mess of screaming and crying about how everything went wrong before he could blink but right now, he lets his gaze drift over the water while tears form so slowly that he doesn’t realise he’s about to cry until the colours blur in his vision. Caelus tries to hold his lips up in a smile but this proves to be so difficult that he eventually pulls his gaze away from the pond and succumbs to the overwhelming sadness taking hold of him. 

Caelus beats his fist against his chest, cursing the lungs that have weakened so much without telling him that he doesn’t feel like a normal person anymore, only a hollowed shell of what he could have been. He trembles like a leaf in the wind, struggling to hold the fraying threads of his existence together as searing tears come gushing down his cheeks before he can help himself. He doesn’t know how long he spends this way, utterly alone with a widening chasm in his chest, until a silhouette enters his muddled vision.

“Caelus?” Dan Heng calls out to him, lowering himself onto his knees so that Caelus doesn’t have to strain his neck to look up. He extends a hand but doesn’t let it touch Caelus’ skin—instead, he lets it hover in the narrow space in between them, wishing he could let it curve around Caelus’ arm or rest on his shoulder. Knowing the distance he must maintain, he curls his fingers in and rests his fists against his kneecap. He watches Caelus wipe his tears away harshly, trying to muster the composure but failing time and time again. He waits for the man in front of him to quiet before gathering the courage to ask, “What happened?” 

An incredulous laugh wrenches out of Caelus’ throat once he makes out the question over the deafening thrum of blood in his ears. He wipes the back of his hand against his running nose, no longer caring how he looks in front of everyone else because none of it is going to matter very soon. “It’s over for me,” he spits, bunching the cold fabric of his night gown in his fists. “My condition got worse. I don’t even know what the blood test results mean—the only thing I gathered is that I’m going to die in three months.” 

Caelus doesn’t know what he’s doing by telling all of this to a man he’s meeting for the second time. Maybe it’s his desire to be understood, even if it’s by someone like Dan Heng. 

“Oh,” Dan Heng makes a solemn sound. For a lack of anything better to say, he mumbles, “I’m sorry.”

Caelus shakes his head, wiping his face against his sleeve to dry his tears. “Don’t be,” he insists. There’s no one to blame but himself for his cruel fate. His chest tightens, making him curl forward and dip his head down, trying to stop the ache from spreading from his lungs to the rest of his chest. His eyes feel swollen and puffy, and he can imagine his face is flushed all over. He feels so awful, it makes him wish he could bury his face into his hands and hide away from Dan Heng’s scrutinising gaze. 

Nothing can prepare a person for a situation like this, so it’s only expected that Dan Heng keeps quiet. This isn’t like other occasions where he would be able to get away with a meek ‘it’s going to get better’ or ‘don’t lose hope just yet’, so silence is all that remains as an adequate response. “Have you thought about what you wanted to do with the rest of your time?” Dan Heng questions, his voice filled with unearthly gentleness. Instead of running away and abandoning any conception of a memory he has with Caelus, he stays. “You don’t have to have a whole plan ready. News like this is unbelievably difficult to bear and I’m sorry that I can’t empathise, but it might be worth it to make the most of your last few days instead of staying here at this hospital.” 

“You’re right,” Caelus murmurs, the soreness in his throat starting to become apparent to him. He coughs into his fists again, turning his head away. Saliva spills out of the corners of his lips, drips around his fingers, and he starts to feel so mortified that he wishes the ground would open up into a casket and kill him right then. Mature as ever, Dan Heng isn’t perturbed by the situation and is kind enough to hand him tissues to clean himself with. 

“You have no reason to be self-conscious about your behaviour around me,” Dan Heng reassures him, moving his hand into the space in between them. Even so, Caelus fumbles out an embarrassed apology and tries to wipe himself hastily, but mustering the strength to keep his grip tight around the tissue proves tedious and it still takes him some time to compose himself again. “The last thing I want is for you to feel like you cannot be yourself around me when there is nothing wrong with you. You must be wondering by now why I choose to stay, even if I know that your demise will be painful for me the closer I get to you—if I’m being honest, I don’t have a good answer. All I know is that I want to be there for you, and there has never been a time when my heart’s desire has led me in the wrong direction.” 

Caelus observes Dan Heng’s expression for any hint of insincerity, but the hopeful gleam in Dan Heng’s eyes is so brilliant that it makes him reconsider ever doubting him at all. “There aren’t many people like you,” is all he can say, gratitude infused in every word. “Thank you for choosing me out of eight billion people.” 

Dan Heng smiles ruefully. “You might be the first to thank me for choosing you. Most pray for me to stay far away from them.”

“You’re the first to volunteer your time to a lost cause like me,” Caelus replies, sliding against the bench until his lower back is on the base of the bench and his legs are outstretched into the middle of the path. He rests the back of his head against the backrest, then grins at Dan Heng, sunshine in his kaleidoscope eyes. “So it’s a first for both of us, right?” 

Their arms touch but neither of them pull away from the contact. For a moment, Dan Heng is so taken by the split second of happiness that he sees in Caelus that he forgets who he is. He feels a strange sensation at the back of his throat, like his vocal chords have ended up in tangles at the mere sight of Caelus, and something so alien to him makes itself known in the cavity of his chest where no heart resides that Dan Heng has to drag his hands against the wood to make sure he’s still grounded in this world and not floating mid-air. 

Caelus, amused by the sheer bewilderment sketched into Dan Heng’s stance, elbows him and sits up again. “Do you want me to introduce you to my terrapin friends?” he offers, nudging his head in the direction of the pond. Dan Heng blinks at him, not understanding what he means. “If you’re going to be friends with me, you have to be friends with them first.” 

Then, without a warning, Caelus rises onto his feet and even if he nearly falls onto his face, doesn’t stop running until he’s at the edge of the pond. When he stumbles, Dan Heng instinctively reaches out to catch him but he’s still at the bench and too far to catch him, even if he falls. Carried by the wind, he follows Caelus’ footsteps to the pond and listens, with full focus, when Caelus tells him about the terrapins for the next two hours. 

───────

Stelle visits Caelus for the first time since his hospitalisation the day after she is informed about the recent blood test results. They talked on the phone the night before and Caelus insisted that she didn’t have to catch the next flight into the country while she’s overseas for work, but knowing his sister, she followed her better judgement and dropped everything to return to her brother’s side. 

“Why didn’t you tell me you were back here?” Stelle scolds him, finally sitting down in one spot after spending the first few minutes pacing anxiously around the ward. The only reason she listens is because he tells her that her movement is making her head spin and the last thing she wants to do is to become the reason he is thrust closer to the jaws of death. Although she keeps denying it, Caelus can tell she isn’t her usual self—her grey coat is wrinkled from the collar down to the seams, her hair is in such disarray that it would seem like she ran here as soon as her flight landed and the dark circles under her eyes hint that she hasn’t slept a wink since hearing the awful news. Caelus can’t blame her—it’s one thing to lose your life and another thing to watch the one you love most leave you and know there’s nothing you can do to stop it. 

Caelus shrugs, extending a hand for her to hold. “I didn’t want to worry you.” 

“Oh, come on,” Stelle frowns, clasping his hand in hers. She rubs the back of his hand, clearly fighting back the tears threatening to spill out of her eyelids at one jerk movement. “I could have been here to support you if you told me earlier. You know my work doesn’t matter to me as much as you do. The only reason I went on that trip is because you told me to. Otherwise, I would have stayed right here and visited you everyday. I care about you so much, Caelus, I don’t know what’s going to happen when—when you’re not—”

Stelle turns away, her smile wilting into its half as the corners of her lips wrestle to hold it up. 

“I don’t want to be a burden to you.” The words leave Caelus’ mouth before he can think them through. Along with the pain of having a life he could have cherished cut short is the guilt that no matter what he does to keep it to himself, his agony branches out into his loved ones. His impending death has become a parasite that saps the happiness out of his life and, at the same time, tortures his sister, his parents and anyone unfortunate enough to have met him and realised the good that he’s capable of. Caelus hangs his head low in shame, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you, Stelle.” 

Stelle coos, starting to cry at the sight of her brother so defeated. She stands and puts her arm around Caelus, bringing his head against her chest where her heart is beating so fast, it reminds him of the currents of a gushing river that stops for no one. Caelus leans into her warm embrace, soaking his tears into her coat. “Don’t apologise to me. You have nothing to be sorry for. I should have been here for you.” 

“I’m sorry—” Caelus’ voice breaks up, an apology stuck to the front and back of every sentence he can form. He crumbles as he confesses, with raw desperation, “I don’t want to leave you. I don’t want to die.” 

Stelle holds him tighter, ignoring the fact that her brother’s arm has half the flesh it used to and she can feel the bones protruding against the thin layer of his skin, even though it used to be so firm to hold. She wants to tell him that everything’s going to be okay, just as she always has, but as despair plunges her mind into a cage and reminds her that she’s too powerless to protect her brother from the universe conspiring against them, she only manages a weak sound of protest. “I’m going to be here with you the whole time,” Stelle promises him, running her hand through his hair. “You’re not going to face this alone.” 

“You have work, Stelle,” Caelus reminds, looking up at her. “I’m not going to be the one who ruins your career while it has just started. You worked so hard to get this job and if you start missing days to be here for me then you won’t even get to build the life you’ve always dreamt of. Just come by on weekends.” 

Speaking has become somewhat of a hassle and he has to pause in between every few words to catch his breath and recall his sentences, but Stelle understands him perfectly well. She scowls, the ceiling lights reflecting off the dried tears on her cheeks. “I can’t do that to you,” she utters, voice thinning. 

There is nothing Caelus wants more in the world than to have his sister by his side so that they can salvage the memories they’ll never be able to make yet, he asserts, “You can. I want you to live on my behalf.” 

Stelle doesn’t make any promises. She sits back down, stares into the distance in silent contemplation, and starts talking when Caelus starts asking her about her travels. Indulging him, she rambles about the airplane food and how it was surprisingly delicious for once, shows him pictures of the airport and her view from the hotel, and complains about the man who tried to scam her every time she walked down a particular road. Although he can only see the country through the screen, Caelus, for a brief while, feels like he’s really there. 

───────

After a lot of convincing, Caelus makes his sister promise that she’ll commit to work and visit him on weekends.

Stelle doesn’t like the idea of spending the little time they have left slaving away at the office when she has the rest of her life to work towards an impeccable career, and only three months to make memories with her brother, but he insists that he needs the time to himself and convinces her that the best thing she can do for him is to let him live vicariously through her experiences. It takes a lot of courage for Caelus to let go of his sister but, slowly, he learns to get used to her absence and hopes she’ll be able to do the like when the unavoidable happens. 

A quarter of Caelus’ gallery is filled with the pictures that Stelle took on her recent vacation. A smile grows on his face as he scrolls through the photographs, chuckling every now and then when he sees a selfie of her making a funny expression with a famous statue or landmark. The morning passes by with him admiring the pictures with a wistful cadence to his eyes. 

When he runs out of messages to bombard his sister with, he sets his phone down on his lap and throws his head back against his pillow. Outside the window, the view of the falling maple leaves remind him of Dan Heng. Lost in thought, he recalls Dan Heng’s suggestion for him to make a list of things he wants to do before he dies. 

Caelus contemplates for a few minutes. It might be impossible for him to list down everything he wants to do, so he picks up his phone and types down a list of five.

───────

Caelus doesn’t have a proper plan for how he’s going to complete anything on his list. His mobility has declined significantly since his initial hospitalisation and he can hardly walk longer than a few metres without feeling like he might lose his balance at any moment. Even if, by some miracle, he does manage to walk far enough, his lungs have weakened to a point that most activities serve as an impediment to his breathing. He’s grateful that he can still eat solid food without having to be strapped to the IV drip throughout the day, but he has gotten so sick of the bland, watery porridge that he desperately wants to taste something real. 

It’s at the moment that Caelus decides he would rather starve than subject himself to another round of porridge that he notices someone lingering in his peripheral vision. Kafka has already done her routine check-ups for the morning, and he isn’t expecting any visitors, so there should be no reason for anyone to be here. Caelus narrows his eyes as he turns to the doorway where he finds someone he least expected to be there. 

“Dan Heng,” Caelus calls out in surprise, his name starting to sound more natural on his tongue. He has an odd compulsion to get up and start moving things around, much like you would when an unexpected but welcome guest enters your life, but the temptation fades quickly enough when he realises there’s not much he can do to make himself look more presentable in this state. Putting the crumpled plastic wrap over his breakfast, Caelus inquires, “What are you doing here? How did you find me?” 

“Good morning, Caelus. I hope I’m not intruding,” Dan Heng greets, entering the room after Caelus shakes his head to clarify that he isn’t causing any trouble. “It didn’t take a lot of effort. I deduced where your ward would be located based on the layout of the hospital and thought I should visit. I was worried about you.”

“Was my two-hour ramble about terrapins not enough to convince you that I’m doing okay?” Caelus jests. In an attempt to feel less uncomfortable, he tries to move the meal tray away so that his legs are no longer held in the same place but doing so much as lifting it proves to be a challenge. 

Dan Heng, taking notice of his trembling arms, rushes over to help him. He sets the tray aside on the cart that’s positioned next to the doorway. “Unfortunately not. I couldn’t tell if you would have the capacity to leave your ward after hearing the news so I took the initiative to visit you myself. You don’t need to tell me about your health, but if you’re in need of a nice conversation, I would love to be the one you talk to.” 

Caelus finds himself at a loss for words. A part of him has been telling him to let go of Dan Heng before he gets too close and forms an attachment that will make dying more painful than it has to be, but the sincerity in Dan Heng’s words echo so far beyond the reach of his rationality that it makes thin line between right and wrong blur until it’s indistinguishable. Caelus, still wrestling with his conscience to accept Dan Heng’s kindness, feels his heart squeeze. “Not much has happened in the last few days,” he says, picking off the dried skin around his fingernails. “My sister, Stelle, came to visit me. She told me she would skip work to accompany me here but guess what I said—I told her to leave me and focus on her career instead.”

Dan Heng purses his lips in thought. He should be good at this by now, but there is no language in the world that can properly capture what he means to say. Knowing pity will only make Caelus feel worse about his state, he settles on saying, “I see. That couldn’t have been easy.” 

“It wasn’t. I wanted her to stay but I—” Caelus bites down on his lower lip. “—I pushed her away.” 

Dan Heng takes a seat at the edge of the ward bed, beside Caelus’ feet. He holds eye contact and shows his focus through his occasional nods of sympathy in between the talking. “I’m sorry you had to do that. It sounds like you care about your sister a lot,” he comments, but the sadness continues to linger in Caelus’ features. He gets the feeling that anything he has to say will pale in comparison to the monster of a feeling Caelus has to grapple with on the daily, so he decides to steer the conversation towards a more light-hearted note. He gives Caelus a gentle look of consolation and asks him, “Did you get a chance to make a list?” 

Caelus gasps in remembrance. “I did, actually,” he recalls, pulling his phone from beside his pillow. He doesn’t have the energy to move it to the bedside table anymore, so he keeps it beside his head these days. “Do you want to hear about it?” 

Seeing how the excitement gleams in Caelus’ eyes, Dan Heng smiles. “Of course.” 

“First off, I want to go to the beach,” Caelus tells him, reading off his list. “Some of my happiest memories were made at the beach. My sister and I used to chase pigeons whenever we were there, but there was this one time when a seagull almost stole our camera so we stopped pestering the birds after that. We also used to compete to see who could make the best sandcastle back then. Apart from that, there’s a record store I want to check out so that I can buy a CD of my favourite movie—oh, and I want to go stargazing.” 

Dan Heng’s expression softens as he listens to Caelus talk about the many things he wants to do. Making a list like this tends to remind many patients of the fact that they’re on the precipice of death, so the fact that Caelus assembled the strength to do this much for himself is a quality of his that Dan Heng admires. He listens with perfect attention, picking up on the intricate details of what Caelus is saying. Amidst his silent observations, it dawns on him that Caelus is mesmerising—the little hope that flutters its wings in the pericarp of his irises is so tender and so beautiful that Dan Heng can’t help but drown in it. 

Then, succumbing to his impulses, he suggests, “What do you think about going to the beach?”

Dan Heng doesn’t have to wait for Caelus to voice his feelings into words before he gathers from the shimmer in his eyes that he would give everything up to do just that. 

───────

Dan Heng waits patiently at the entrance of the hospital for Caelus to change into more comfortable clothes, his hands stuffed into his pockets as he contemplates what to do for the day. Through his jacket, he can feel the chill of the breeze as it brushes against him, brown leaves floating in tow. 

“Dan Heng!” Caelus cries, his exhilaration carried by the breeze. The first thought that comes to Dan Heng’s mind is that Caelus looks pretty. He’s wearing a black graphic tee, and over it, a mocha coat with faux fur stitched to the seams. Paired with the shirt are denim leggings and boots that thump faintly as he speeds up to meet Dan Heng halfway. He has both his hands buried in his pockets to protect them from the cold. “I’m lucky I had these with me from the day I got hospitalised. It would have been awkward to go out in the hospital gown,” he laughs. 

Dan Heng blinks, suddenly embarrassed to be in the focus of Caelus’ aureate eyes. Averting his gaze, he pulls his scarf off his shoulders and drapes it around Caelus’ exposed neck. “The winds at the beach are strong during fall. I don’t want you to fall sick,” he mumbles, uncharacteristically timid. 

Caelus tilts his head to the side, confused by the abrupt change in his demeanour. A cloud of mist billows into the air when he lets out a deep exhale to speak. “Did something happen?” he asks, his expression riddled with the curiosity of a child who is seeing the outside world for the first time. “I didn’t say anything wrong, right?” 

“No, I was just trying to recall when the next bus is coming,” Dan Heng lies. Instantly, he curses himself for coming up with such a stupid excuse to justify why he’s weirdly flustered, but somehow, Caelus doesn’t notice the obvious lie in his words and believes him. Dan Heng, thankful to have gotten away with his brief moment of weakness without being thrown questions he won’t have answers to, glances at his watch which reminds him that they should start moving if they don’t want to miss their bus. 

“Oh yeah, I forgot we had to keep that in mind,” Caelus confesses, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly. He trails behind Dan Heng once he starts moving again, entrusting his fate to Dan Heng’s reliable hands. “I trust your sense of direction enough to lead us to the right place because I don’t know which bus we have to take.” 

Dan Heng can’t say that he has ever had to learn how to take public transport before, but he supposes there’s a first time for everything. 

───────

The beach is practically empty when they reach. 

There is a group of fishermen who have their foldable chairs lined up along the shore and portable boxes filled with ice so that they can bring their catches back home. Apart from them, there is a girl whose petite frame is curled forward to hide her head in the valley between her knees, sitting a safe distance away from the line where the sea meets the land. All of them are caught up enough in their own bubbles to not notice Caelus and Dan Heng when they arrive. 

Standing at the pavement, Caelus looks out at the beach with so much unbridled happiness that it looks to Dan Heng like the sun has fallen from the sky and reincarnated into the man standing beside him. Caelus raises his nose into the air and stretches his arms out to his sides, letting the strong winds blow over him. His coat flies haphazardly, the fabric slipping off his shoulders and onto his upper arms. “It’s been so long,” he breathes out, not anticipating for once how much it’s going to hurt when he tumbles off balance and bruises his knees. “I missed this.” 

Then, Caelus turns to Dan Heng, his overgrown hair obstructing his vision. The gold in his eyes splinters into a constellation, easily becoming the most bewitching sight Dan Heng has ever beholden. 

“Catch me if you can,” he grins, his laughter becoming ambrosia when it reaches Dan Heng’s ears. Summoning strength from every inch of his mortal body, Caelus leaps onto the sand and runs towards the waves, slipping out of Dan Heng’s grasp by the skin of his teeth. It takes seconds for the soreness at the back of his knees to settle in and for his ligaments to strain but he surrenders to his instincts—chest heaving, breath thinning, he keeps going until he reaches the water and loses his balance. 

Caelus collapses onto the side of his hip, splashing saltwater into his mouth. Panicked, Dan Heng rushes to his side and reaches down to help him back up, the skin on his forehead creased from concern. He doesn’t like the ocean and how the sand leaves him feeling itchy once he leaves, but he’d run out here in such a frenzy that his entire mind is washed over with thoughts of Caelus instead. “Don’t be so reckless—” Dan Heng huffs, his jeans soaked up to his calves. “Caelus,” he frowns. 

Instead of lamenting about how much his bones hurt or how the chill of the water is making his chest feel stuffy and uncomfortable, the most genuine sound of laughter summons from the base of Caelus’ throat. Running his hands through his damp hair, he raises his head to grin at Dan Heng who finds himself speechless at the sight of the cyclone that is Caelus’ being. “Dan Heng,” Caelus says in between his laughter, but it sounds to Dan Heng like a divine symphony. “I’m so happy.” 

To that, the million thoughts in Dan Heng’s mind culminate into one: You’re so beautiful. 

───────

“You should have let me stay in the water for a while longer.”

Caelus folds his arms over his chest as he pouts at Dan Heng, who has an expression so grave that it would seem like he’s doing something more serious than helping Caelus remove the coat that he got drenched in the ocean. It took Dan Heng a lot more effort than he expected to drag Caelus out of the water, because the latter kept finding a way to worm out of Dan Heng’s grasp every time he got a hold of him, landing them in a situation where they’re both soaked to the bone. 

Trying to keep Caelus from catching a cold, Dan Heng resorted to the course of action that made most sense to him, which was to bring him into the diner across the road from the beach and shove him into the booth nearest to the entrance of the kitchen where they’ll be out of view of any curious patrons. 

“Are you trying to catch a cold?” Dan Heng grumbles, pushing the damp coat to the side of the table closest to the wall. Caelus shakes his head, making droplets of water jump onto Dan Heng’s face. He wipes the water off, but his affectionate smile remains in place. “Let’s get something to eat first. Your clothes should dry by the time we’re done with our meal.” 

“Are you worried about me?” Caelus asks with a teasing lilt to his voice. He leans forward to scrutinise the shifts in Dan Heng’s expression as he pointedly turns away. 

The tips of his ears starting to colour, Dan Heng mumbles, “I’m always worried about you.” 

Seeing Dan Heng so shy is enough to satisfy Caelus for the time being, who leans back against the firm cushion on the back of his seat and suppresses a smile with a look of feigned nonchalance. When Dan Heng quizzes him about what’s making him snicker so much, Caelus clasps his hand over his mouth and dips his face out of view, pretending he doesn’t like how much Dan Heng has flushed red.

───────

It becomes obvious to Caelus in a matter of time that Dan Heng isn’t like everybody else. 

Caelus had braced himself for the worst when he told Stelle she didn’t have to see him on days she has work, but the loneliness that had been so wedged so deep into his side vanished so steadily in Dan Heng’s presence that he starts to forget the sting of isolation. Not once has Caelus discerned a speck of pity on his face, be it on days that Caelus’ blood pressure drops so far below the norm that he can’t walk a few steps without falling, or on days that his mind is made so restless by his impending death that all he can do is rock back and forth on his bed, crying, crying, crying. 

Dan Heng might not be adept with his words, but his care translates into everything he does for Caelus—he can tell when Caelus is having a bad day from the timbre of his voice, and on those days, does everything in his power to make him smile. Although Dan Heng’s skill in all other things doesn’t extend to his humour, Caelus laughs at his jokes. On days he can’t speak, he listens to Dan Heng ramble about his fascination with astronomy and facts that Caelus will never need to know but will remember anyways—like the fact that one tablespoon of a neutron star weighs as much as the entire human population. Caelus likes this fact the most out of the hundreds that Dan Heng has narrated to him during their time together. More than the fact itself, he likes the implication that, much like a neutron star, there is one person in his universe who holds more weight than every human being on the planet. 

Caelus has to pretend he doesn’t have the strange urge to look at Dan Heng when that thought comes to mind.

It takes two weeks for Caelus’ body to return to a healthy enough state for him to leave his ward again. The fever he caught after parading around in drenched clothes tormented him for a while, confining him to his bed until he recovered. During that time, Dan Heng feeds Caelus his meals so that he doesn’t have to exhaust himself with the slow process of completing his food. He also brings with him a soft toy of a dragon for Caelus that he claims to have fished out of a claw machine, and alongside the toy, a visceral mental image of Dan Heng fighting for his life against a shabby machine to win a prize.

When Stelle returns to visit on Saturday and sees Caelus cradling the soft toys in his arms like a child, she quizzes him about where he got it from. He can’t tell her the truth about Dan Heng—the fact that he might have found the love of his life right as he’s nearing its end—so he shrugs and claims he doesn’t remember.

───────

Caelus hears about an indie record store that has copies of classic movies and music from the 90s. Most places in the city are one bus ride away from each other, making the travel between them convenient, but between classes and ending up back at the hospital, Caelus hasn’t had the chance to see much of the world outside of the bubble that he’s been stuck in as a consequence of his debilitating illness. 

Once Caelus has the strength to go outside again, he pleads with Dan Heng over and over again until he gives in to his demands and agrees to accompany him to the record store. Though he doesn’t voice it, Dan Heng is more protective of Caelus when they hang out again. He maintains a firm grip on Caelus’ coat sleeve, making sure he doesn’t run off without warning again. Whenever Caelus makes an abrupt movement, Dan Heng instinctively reaches his hand over his waist to prevent him from falling forward, but all the while makes a conscious effort not to make contact with Caelus’ bare skin. 

Normally, Caelus doesn’t like being protected. From the moment that he found out he was ill, his parents have coddled him so much that there would be moments during his teenagehood where it felt like he couldn’t exist in his own space without being crammed up with them too. But there’s something about the way Dan Heng wants to protect him that makes his insides feel fluttery, like there is an ecosystem in his stomach jumping about. 

They’re the only ones in the record store when they arrive. There is a distinct aroma of red musk and wild plum wafting through their nose as they inch further away from the glass door. There are three shelves separated by narrow walkways that require them to be wary of where they’re moving their arms, in case they elbow one of the shelves and knock over one of the boxes. Some of the CDs are stored in plastic containers, others in scrap cardboard, and the labels are written in an array of colours, whatever the owner could get their hands on. The dingy cashier’s desk is vacant, but the mixture of tinkering and occasional groaning close by lets Dan Heng and Caelus know that they’re not alone here. 

“Have you been to a place like this before?” Caelus asks, awestruck by the sheer expanse of the archives. Stowed away in a glass case above their heads is a series of walkmans and digital cameras, featuring models that went out of production at least a decade ago. He can’t decide where to look so he turns his head between all sorts of places as he meanders gingerly through the store, running his hands over the dusty albums and film tapes. 

Dan Heng, who has been staring at Caelus all the while, has to pry his eyes off to admire his surroundings before he can admit, “I can’t say I have. It’s a nice place.” 

“There used to be one close to the beach but it shut down a few years ago,” Caelus recalls, a certain sadness to his tone that implies he hasn’t gotten over it yet. He doesn’t like admitting that he’s sentimental, but Dan Heng can tell that Caelus cares deeply about his childhood and the places that carry memories of that time. The sides of Caelus’ smile might taper downwards only slightly and he might appear enthusiastic all the same, but Dan Heng has become so fluent in his silence that comprehending Caelus’ words come to him like breathing. 

Dan Heng halts in his tracks when Caelus does too, observing as he sifts through a stack of CDs. “How come?” 

“It got replaced by some fried rice place, which is so stupid because they have a thousand other branches all over the country. Meanwhile, indie stores are hard to come around. Anyways, ever since that happened, I’ve sworn off egg fried rice and I don’t intend on trying it.”

Dan Heng shifts his hand over his mouth to hide a growing smile and stifles a laugh. 

“What? Why are you looking at me like that?” Caelus interrogates, pausing in the middle of his search to pry an answer out of the man who is floundering quite badly at hiding his amusement. 

“You swore off egg fried rice for the rest of your life because your favourite store got replaced?”

“Yeah,” he replies flatly. “That’s a perfectly normal thing to do.”

Dan Heng might not agree, but he gives a thoughtful nod and reserves his judgement. He manages to suppress his smile enough for anyone not to notice if they’re not paying close attention, but Caelus still notices fragments of it through the gaps of Dan Heng’s fingers. Dan Heng isn’t the kind to smile often, so during the few times he does, it takes every bit of Caelus’ feeble willpower to stop himself from staring. 

To distract himself, Caelus devotes his attention to his foraging when, sandwiched between numerous plastic casings, he feels a paper sheet covering one of the disks. Taking a chance, he pulls it out to get a better look at it and, much to his surprise, discovers the movie he’s been searching for. “Spirited Away,” he gasps, holding the CD in the centre of his palm like he has the most precious object in the world in his grasp. When Caelus whips his head around to look at Dan Heng, it feels like the entire world has darkened and a spotlight has fallen over Caelus’ head, making him the sole focus in a play revolving around him only. 

Dan Heng hasn’t heard of the film before but, he gets the inexplicable feeling that he would watch it a hundred times if Caelus asked. 

“I’ve been looking for this everywhere,” Caelus says, clutching the disk against his chest. Soon after, he holds it in front of his vision again to confirm he isn’t dreaming, trembling with exhilaration each time he confirms that the CD he’s holding is the real deal. “This movie got me through the first few years of my treatment. Back when I would get hospitalised for weeks at a time, I would watch this over and over again because it made me feel like if Chihiro could survive in an outlandish place and find her way back home, I could come back home too.”

Dan Heng leans closer to inspect the cover of the CD which is adorned with a beautiful artwork of a bath house and a teenage girl standing in front of it, likely the main visual of the film. “You should tell me all about it,” Dan Heng encourages, taking the opportunity to give Caelus more ideas for conversation.

“I could talk about it for hours,” Caelus gushes, finding the renewed motivation to search for films or music he recognises. He bends to examine the lower shelves. “I hope I can find the studio album. My luck is good today.” 

Following his friend, Dan Heng lowers himself onto his knees too. Trying to get a better look of Caelus, he tilts his head and rests it against the edges of the shelves. Caelus, intent on finding a copy of the studio album to accompany the film, starts developing a mental framework for the boxes he’s going to rummage through and the ones he needs to bring down from the shelves. All the while, he doesn’t realise that Dan Heng has become the sole audience to the masterpiece that he is—studying him with such curiosity that it doesn’t feel like they’re two men finding happiness in the quiet part of town but a blind man seeing the North Star for the first time. 

───────

“Thank you, Dan Heng.” 

Caelus runs his hands over the plastic casing of the studio album he unearthed from the bottom of a plastic box filled with miscellaneous objects. Beyond the shock of finding the last copy of the album is the disbelief that the owner could categorise such an instrumental piece of media with mediocre music he has never heard before. The thrill of discovering the CDs passed during their short walk back to the bus stop, making way for a more tranquil form of happiness. 

“You have no reason to thank me,” Dan Heng assures, admiring the sky beyond the overhead shelter of the bus stop. The stars are clearer than they’ve ever been before. The city is usually so shrouded with smog and pollution from the heavy traffic that most colours appear black in the night sky. 

“It’s not about the CDs,” Caelus clarifies, recalling how Dan Heng stepped forward and paid on his behalf while Caelus was searching his pockets for the right amount of cash. His cheeks heating up, he confesses, “If it wasn’t for you, I don’t think I would have been able to complete the activities on my list. Hah, I don’t think I would have had a list at all. I try not to show it, but it’s difficult. Eating is difficult. Breathing is difficult. I can’t walk without leaning on you for support. It must be hard on you too—knowing I’m going to be gone soon. You have no reason to be with me, but you still let me become your problem. Thank you for letting me be selfish.” 

The city falls silent. Dan Heng breathes, “Caelus…” 

“I didn’t expect things to turn out this way,” Caelus continues, combing his hair back. He looks up at the stars and, at the back of his mind, conjures an image of a universe where he’s in his own room, in his own house, wrapped up in Dan Heng’s arms. A thin layer of tears accumulating over his irises, he speaks but his voice splinters into a whisper. Fearing the stronger word, he professes, “I care about you a lot, Dan Heng. No one saves me the way you do.” 

Up until a moment ago, Dan Heng was certain that he was all-knowing. Yet, he cannot muster even the faintest explanation as to why he so hopelessly wants Caelus’ lips on his. 

───────

The last time Caelus returns home is a day before his body becomes so frail that he loses his ability to walk. 

The decision to go back home is a product of his impulses that occur when he and Dan Heng lose track of time and, in an unfortunate turn of events, miss the last bus that goes back to the hospital. Being the only one among the two with any concept of time, Dan Heng keeps reminding Caelus that they have to leave the arcade if they want to make it back in time. But, despite spending the entire day trying out all the games, Caelus refuses to leave until he attempts the claw machine next to the entrance. One attempt becomes two, which later becomes three and Dan Heng, not knowing how to refuse Caelus, watches in silence. 

By the time Caelus decides he doesn’t want to waste any more of his time on the rigged machine, it’s already too late for them to catch the last bus. So, consulting the only logical solution that comes to mind, he proposes, “We can head to my place. It’s ten minutes away and I have my keys.”

Shivering from the cold, Dan Heng doesn’t think too much about it and cautiously agrees. 

“It’s good to be back home,” Caelus huffs once he steps foot through the front door, rubbing his arms over and over again in a feeble attempt to warm himself up. He slips out of his shoes and flicks on the lights to his living room, hoping the pungent smell of dust won’t be bothersome for Dan Heng. Switching on the heater, Caelus requests, “Do you mind helping me open one of the windows? I got the heater.”

Dan Heng obliges. An expectant smile grows on his face when Caelus collapses onto his couch and exhales a deep sigh of relief, like there’s no place he would rather be. Within a few minutes of being here, he observes that the whole place is littered with bits and pieces of Caelus’ identity, from the framed pictures of him and his family to the collection of professional cameras displayed on his shelf. 

“Dan Heng, sit here,” Caelus says, sitting up to make room for Dan Heng. He slaps his remote against the table once to get it working again. “Do you want to watch Spirited Away?”

“Sure,” Dan Heng responds, peeling his coat off his shoulders. Then, he extends a hand to ask for the CD that Caelus has pulled out of the paper sleeve. “I’ll help with the CD.” 

More comfortable with accepting his help, Caelus hands it to him. “Thanks.” 

Dan Heng pushes the disk nimbly into the CD player connected to the television. The contraption sputters as it eats the CD, making a faint buzzing noise that makes Dan Heng wonder if he should be concerned. He pushes the lid down with the pad of his index finger, not wanting to touch it elsewhere. Dan Heng glances at Caelus for his validation, as if he believes the CD is going to blow up any second now. “Is it working?” 

“Pretty sure,” Caelus replies, craning his neck to make sure none of the wires are out of place. 

Dan Heng returns to the couch for his own safety, but it remains unclear to Caelus why he’s behaving like he has never interacted with such a device. Everyone in his age bracket should be familiar with it, given it was only two decades ago when digital media wasn’t as freely distributed as it is today. Thankfully, the jarring blue fades into the opening frame of the film in due time, alleviating Dan Heng’s fears.

“How long is the movie?” 

“Two hours.” 

A pause. The movie starts playing and for a while, neither of them say anything even if they’re more focused on the silence rather than the dialogue. Dan Heng glances at his watch and clarifies, “Are you sure it’s okay for me to stay here until that late?” 

Hugging his cushion against his chest, Caelus nods. “Of course. I wanted you to stay the night.” 

“Oh,” Dan Heng makes a soft sound of realisation once the epiphany crashes down on him. It should’ve been obvious to him that he would be staying over. He can just about imagine the pout on Caelus’ lips if he insists on leaving after the movie so he erases the thought altogether. There is nothing out of the ordinary about what they have going on, so why should he be worried? 

Leaning back against the cushions, Dan Heng stares stoically at the screen and for the entire duration of the film, is definitely not hyper-aware about how close their shoulders are to touching. 

───────

A storm rolls in halfway a couple of hours into the night. 

They finished watching the movie an hour ago but Caelus has only just stopped crying. Dan Heng, not the type to feel emotional over movies, watches him helplessly with no clue as to what he should be doing to comfort his friend. Blowing his nose into the last tissue remaining in his packet, Caelus leans his head back against the sofa and lets out a deep exhale to clear his airway. “The ending still gets to me,” he mumbles. “Agh, if I think about it again, I’m going to cry.” 

“Please don’t,” Dan Heng says worriedly. 

Caelus twists his hip to face him. “Did you like it?” 

“Of course,” he replies. “How could I not?” 

“Good answer,” Caelus chuckles, cradling his knees. He blinks slowly, evidently sleepy after the movie. To keep himself warm from the strong winds rattling the windows, he has nestled into Dan Heng’s coat, which is large enough to cover up just about his entire body in this position. Starting to succumb to his fatigue, he continues to talk in a manner where his words get mushed together and become indistinguishable in-between. “Stelle once pretended she didn’t like a movie I recommended to see my reaction so I made her watch it seven times until she admitted she was joking.” 

Dan Heng shakes his head, amused. “I don’t think I’ve met anyone like you, Caelus.” 

“I get that a lot,” Caelus mumbles drearily. Handing the cushion to Dan Heng, he inches closer and in his sleepy state of mind, rests his head on Dan Heng’s shoulder before the latter can move away. “Actually, I lied. You’re the first person to say that to me.” 

Dan Heng tenses up at the unexpected contact. He glimpses at Caelus from the side of his eye, conscious of his movements to make sure he doesn’t cause any accidental disturbance. He places his palms on his lap and remains seated sternly before he finds it in himself to relax again. “Caelus?” he calls out softly once he feels Caelus’ head roll against his shoulder blade. 

Caelus hums in acknowledgement. 

“How come you’ve never asked me where I’m from? Or who I am?” 

Caelus makes a sound akin to a soft groan. He stirs again, shifting his body into a more comfortable posture to sleep in. He doesn’t reply for a bit, during which time Dan Heng contemplates if he’s thinking or has gone back to sleep, but eventually forms a sentence that encapsulates what he wishes to say. “I don’t know. I guess I should have been curious about who you are but you felt so right that I didn’t think about it that much.” 

Neither of them say anything after that. Caelus falls back asleep but Dan Heng doesn’t sleep a wink for the rest of the night. 

───────

Nothing stays the same after that. 

Caelus’ health deteriorates rapidly in the month that follows, making it so that he’s no longer allowed to leave the hospital so that he can be kept under careful observation. His condition takes such an unprecedented turn for the worse that his team of doctors is saddled with more questions than they have answers. The consequences of Caelus’ illness have been surfacing on his body for a long time, but the startling weight loss coupled with the increased dose of heavy medication makes his skin pale until it appears translucent under the cold hospital lights and his bones protrude sharply against his skin. 

Along with the ability to leave the hospital, Caelus eventually loses his strength to move at all. It turns out that he exhausted his body too much during the two months that he spent roaming the city, pushing it to a point where it simply started breaking down. The ache gets worse, unbearable on some days, but Caelus becomes so sick that he loses the capacity to wail. After the vicious illness has dug its talons deep into Caelus’ flesh, it decides it has taken enough away from the man and leaves him with a softer, quivering voice. 

“Dan Heng,” Caelus mumbles, stirring awake from a prescription-induced coma.

Dan Heng’s worry dissolves at the sound of his voice. He raises his head from his hands and rises from his chair with swift reflexes. “You’re awake,” he gasps, placing his hands on Caelus’ blanket, where his body is tucked snugly beneath. These words have only gotten heavier since he started saying them, because as the days pass and Caelus spends more time sleeping, it gets harder and harder to tell whether he’ll open his eyes again. He notices that Caelus is staring at the top of his head—Dan Heng knows it’s because his hair is messed up and all over the place and, self-conscious, starts combing his fingers through it. 

“I am,” Caelus chuckles hoarsely. Blinking his glassy eyes, he mumbles, “How long have you been waiting?” 

Dan Heng was never good at keeping track of time around Caelus, but he has gotten worse at it since Caelus relapsed into a state much worse than he has ever experienced before. “I don’t know.” 

“You should stop wasting your time on me,” Caelus tells him weakly. Slowly, he musters the strength to push his blanket off his hand and lifts it to the handle lining his bed. It’s bony like the rest of his body, a system of veins coursing through the surface of his skin. His palms are ghastly white, and Dan Heng fears that if he stares too hard, he might see muscles and bone right there. “I’m going to die soon. If you keep staying here, you’re going to get more attached to me and it’s going to be harder for you to leave.” 

Dan Heng inhales sharply. He looks firmly into Caelus’ eyes, even if he can tell that Caelus’ conviction is starting to waver. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“I don’t want you to waste your life away,” Caelus murmurs, tears brimming in his eyes. Even if it pains him, he forces a smile and doesn’t let it fall. He pauses in between his words, like it’s taking every bit of his willpower for him to voice his thoughts. “It’s going to hurt you to watch me die. I don’t want you to go through that. I don’t want to cause you more pain.” 

A particular feeling dominates Dan Heng’s mind over all others—the desperation to hold Caelus’ hand. He bites back his tears, trying his hardest to grab onto the fraying threads of his composure and hold them in place before he unravels in front of Caelus. Every inch of his body is seized by the debilitating desire to break the silence that settles between them, but in the span of a minute, every language that Dan Heng knows evaporates from his mind. Having to wrest his words out of his tangled vocal chords, he asks, “Do you—really want me to leave?” 

Caelus doesn’t answer. His smile drops into half of what it used to be, and the light gloss over his irises reveal a mixture of sadness and, more evidently, the genuine fear that Dan Heng will listen to him. 

Noticing the change, Dan Heng repeats himself, “Do you really want me to leave?” 

Caelus swallows the lump in his throat. Warring against the rationality in his brain that keeps pushing him to let go of Dan Heng for his sake, he mutters, “I don’t know.” 

“I won’t leave you,” Dan Heng asserts, displaying a level of certainty in his tone that implies he never considered otherwise for even a second. If it wasn’t for his heart rate monitor confirming that he’s still alive, Caelus would have mistaken the feeling in his chest for his heart stopping. All at once, he’s hit by the urge to laugh and cry and cup Dan Heng’s jaw in his hands and kiss him. Then, to sweep him up further in the warmth that has started to simmer at the base of his stomach, Dan Heng adds, “I want to be by your side until the end.” 

“I’m sorry, Dan Heng—”

“—No,” Dan Heng interrupts, pressing his index finger against his own lips as a gesture for Caelus to stop right there. Shaking his head, he clarifies, “You have nothing to apologise for. This is my choice to make and you can’t convince me to leave you, because I—I care too much about you to leave you. I was certain from the moment I saw you that I wanted to be with you through everything.” 

When Caelus smiles, it’s like watching the clouds clear and seeing the sun again. Happiness floats in Caelus’ eyes among the scattered reflection of Dan Heng’s loving face—only the surface of what turns out to be layers and layers of relief that Dan Heng won’t abandon him. His nose turns red as he starts to feel the weight of oncoming tears on his eyelids, so overwhelmed by Dan Heng’s sincerity towards him that Caelus wishes so badly to hold onto him and never let him go. 

“Thank you.” His gratitude spills out of his lips like a prayer. 

Watching a childish grin capture Caelus’ lips, Dan Heng is left with one conceivable thought amid the chaos in his conscience: How could I leave you, Caelus? I love you.

───────

By the end of December, they’ve watched Spirited Away ten times. 

They don’t bother with the trouble of finding new movies to watch. Caelus has always been the kind of person to stick to what he knows—he used to order the same dish at restaurants and buy the same pair of shoes in the same colour every time his old pair started falling apart and seek the comfort of the same person over and over again like clockwork. Dan Heng, meanwhile, knows little about the world outside of Caelus and doesn’t mind agreeing to whatever he wishes. 

Like always, Dan Heng has his laptop propped up on top of Caelus’ blanket so that it’s easier for him to view while he’s seated on a chair as close to the bed as he can possibly bring it. The movie has started to come close to the ending, but it doesn’t give Dan Heng the thrill that it used to. However, instead of bothering Caelus with a conversation to ease his bored mind, he likes to challenge himself to see if he can recite all the lines from memory. So, determined to achieve his goal, Dan Heng stares at the screen with intent focus. 

That is, until Caelus speaks up. “Do you know why this is my favourite movie, Dan Heng?” 

Dan Heng cocks his head to the side, curious.

“It has my favourite line in the world.” 

“What is it?” 

Despite his muddled memory, Caelus recalls with immense precision, “Once you’ve met someone, you never really forget them. It just takes a while for your memory to come back to you.” 

Raising an eyebrow, Dan Heng questions, “Why do you like it so much?” 

Then, sounding like he has waited his entire life to say this, Caelus musters, “I thought about the line a lot since I found out I was sick. I was scared that everyone would forget me after I die—maybe my family will never be able to, but I thought that you would forget me because I was just a stranger to you. Then, this made me realise that I might be wrong.”

Dan Heng stares at Caelus, whose features are illuminated by the changing colours on the screen. His expression softening, he says, “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forget you, Caelus.” 

Though his words stop there, there are many unspoken promises inscribed in between the lines. Caelus’ hands shift against his lap, moving closer to the edge of the bed where Dan Heng will be able to hold them through the gaps in the handles. He knows that Dan Heng won’t take them, and Dan Heng knows that Caelus won’t respond to the feelings that are so audible in the tremor of his voice. They don’t speak for the rest of the night, but there is a silent understanding in both of their chests that the love they feel so strongly for each other is mutual and will be kept in safe hands when there is only one man left to own it. 

───────

Later than usual, it starts to snow on the precipice of the new year.

Dan Heng bemoans as the rattling of the windows awakes him. He lifts his head from his arms, wondering when he fell asleep. The last memory he has from the night before is of him sitting beside Caelus’ bed and playing with his hair until he fell asleep. At some point, he must’ve retreated to his chair and fallen asleep with his arms on the handles of the bed. Disoriented, he instinctively turns to Caelus, who from his angle, is completely still. 

Looking at him, an unnaturally glum feeling churns in Dan Heng’s insides. He jolts out of his chair and rushes to Caelus’ side, standing over him with a sensation much worse than the sinking feeling that has anchored itself to the pits of his stomach. There, he finds that Caelus is already awake, focused on the ceiling with an expression that cuts open a wound in Dan Heng’s soul that will never be healed. “You’re awake,” he heaves out, but the tightness in his chest refuses to ease up. 

Caelus reciprocates his greeting with his usual smile. “It’s snowing,” he says, rolling his head against the pillow to glimpse at the windows. 

Snowflakes bat against the glass panes as thicker blocks of ice pelt down from the cover of clouds above, making way for only a narrow stream of light to filter in through the windows. The winds are harsh. They beat their fists against the windows, making the hinges creak and the glass groan when a firm chunk of snow is thrown against it. It then occurs to Dan Heng, who can’t draw himself away from the man in front of him, how much Caelus looks like a snowflake—elegant in his beauty and fragile to touch. Dan Heng’s gaze remains fixed on Caelus’ thin hands, yearning to warm them against his chest. 

The room is colder than most days. Caelus keeps quivering even though most of his body is under the cover of the blankets. His chest moves up and down with an unsteady rhythm, his breathing constricted because of the chilly atmosphere. The invisible barrier between him and Dan Heng grows thicker as Dan Heng imagines lying in Caelus’ bed and cradling him in his arms, whispering sweet nothings in his ears until he’s coaxed back to sleep. It’s going to be okay, he would mumble as he rests his chin on the top of Caelus’ head, sketching the life they could’ve lived with his finger on Caelus’ chest.

“Dan Heng,” Caelus calls out, the mere threads of his voice nearly unheard. “I want to ask you something.” 

Dan Heng kneels on the ground to meet him at his eye-level. “Anything.” 

“You’re not real, are you?” 

Dan Heng pales. His hands tighten around the handles of the bed as Caelus, with a shimmer of curiosity in his golden eyes, waits patiently for an answer. There is a measly smile dancing across his face, where the mask of death has already started to chisel itself into his features. Forgiveness is sketched on the blank canvas of Caelus’ expression, but it does little to relieve Dan Heng of his remorse. There are many questions he could ask: How did you realise? Why didn’t you tell me earlier? Do you think I’m a bad person?

Every thought culminates into one answer—

“You’re right,” Dan Heng confesses. “I’m sorry I lied to you.” 

Caelus lets out a deep breath, like something he’d been holding in for a long time has finally been let out. He shakes his head weakly against his pillow, hardly able to believe that his hunch is right. No longer looking at Dan Heng for fear that he might be right, he questions, “I didn’t make you up in my head, did I?” 

“No,” Dan Heng answers him promptly, leaving no opportunity for a misunderstanding. Exhaling deeply, he explains, “I’m the God of Death.” 

Caelus doesn’t move. Then, in a disembodied voice, he asks, “What does that mean?” 

“Truth be told, the reason why I couldn’t properly explain my job to you when we first met is because the only reason I spend so much time at the hospital is to collect souls when they pass away,” Dan Heng says, trying to read Caelus’ face for subtle changes in his emotions. In his aeons of being a deity, however, he never learned how to brace himself for love. “This is also why I don’t have an apartment to bring you home to or a phone where you could contact me. No one else can see me, so I never had the chance to meet your sister.” 

“You knew I was supposed to die,” Caelus states, struggling to speak in full sentences. He coughs, and phlegm surfaces from the base of his throat. He squeezes his eyes shut, wrestling with his body to stay conscious despite the intense pain in his lungs, “You stayed. Why?” 

“After our first meeting, I grew fascinated with you. I kept wanting to see you again.” 

Caelus turns his head again, but his cheeks are dusted with a vibrant shade of red this time. The feelings that they share are far too sacred to be put into words, yet the ‘I kept wanting to see you again’ comes close enough to articulating them into a mortal language that can’t emulate the dialect of souls.

“That explains a lot.” Then, a momentary pause before Caelus asks, “Is that why you couldn’t touch me?” 

It’s also why every time they touched accidentally, Caelus fell so ill that it made their distance more bearable than their closeness. Dan Heng nods, no longer able to contain his tears. 

“Does that still apply?” Caelus whispers. “If I’m about to die?”

Dan Heng’s eyes widen. The undercurrent in Caelus’ words pulls him along with them before surrounding him in the tides of a love that he burrowed so deeply into the depths of his being. He rises steadily onto his feet, but he feels so detached from his human body that it feels like he’s floating. Much like Caelus was surprised that he found a person who is so devoted to him that he chooses to brave through the worst of Caelus’ storms, Dan Heng can barely believe that he found someone who adores him at his worst. 

“Caelus,” breathes Dan Heng, who grows a heart for the sole purpose of loving Caelus. Leaning closer, he ghosts his fingertips over his lover’s cheek. In his lifetime as a god, Dan Heng has come to familiarise himself with every speck of knowledge that humanity has recorded, but the unparalleled depth to which he feels for Caelus proves that he’s illiterate in the face of love. As if he’s touching a feather, he embraces the curve of Caelus’ jaw with impossible softness. “I will never forget you.” 

Caelus melts into his touch, bearing the most beautiful smile that humanity has ever seen as his eyes flutter shut. He inhales one last time before succumbing to Dan Heng. “I will never forget you too,” he murmurs before the last bit of life slips out of his body and manifests as a crystalline soul.

His tears forming an empyrean river down his face, Dan Heng pushes Caelus’ hair out of his forehead and presses a kiss against his cold skin—the boundaries between mortal and god in eternal dance.