Work Text:
“Do you like singing?”
Soomin pauses, her fingers faltering on her half-made crown of flowers. Hyerin stares down at her intensely, but when their eyes meet, she quickly focuses on the book in her lap. They’re only a few inches apart, hiding under the shade of their favorite tree. Soomin is lying flat on her back and Hyerin sits cross-legged, periodically tugging down the hem of her long white shirt.
“Does it say that in the book?” Soomin frowns. Hyerin had been reading it out loud for her; whenever they get tired of making up games to play, they find a place to rest and read. Hyerin’s voice is mellow and soft, and whenever Soomin doesn’t recognize a word, she stops and helps her.
“No, I’m asking you,” Hyerin says, tapping a soft rhythm on the book’s cover with her fingertips. Strands of hair fall to veil her expression, but Soomin can picture the anxious twist of her eyebrows, the somber line of her mouth.
“Is this about Alien Stage?” Soomin asks, stretching her legs and wiggling her toes in the artificial grass. “Are you getting nervous? I don’t think they’ll let you back out this late.”
The day before, they’d both finally gotten confirmation that they’d get to compete in Alien Stage. Though their turn to perform is still years away, Soomin was kept awake all night by the eager thudding of her heart. She thought Hyerin felt the same; the hug she gave her when the results beamed from their wristbands almost bruised her ribs.
“That’s not it,” Hyerin’s grip on her book tightens, her fingertips paling. “Your guardians sent you here because they liked your voice, right?”
“Yeah,” Soomin smiles, idly fiddling with the knots on her flower crown. “I sang all the time, so of course I like it! It’s way better than studying, and it’s always fun spending time with you.”
“I didn’t ask if you like it with me,” Hyerin says quietly, tensely. Soomin frowns. Hyerin always seems to overthink things… or maybe Soomin just underthinks everything. It’s how all their arguments start: Hyerin is upset, and Soomin doesn’t understand why.
“What do you mean?” She asks, rolling over on her side. The cold metal hidden beneath the grass presses her glasses into her face and squishes her cheek.
“Are you happy singing by yourself, or just with me?” Hyerin’s dark eyes dart to her beneath the shadow of her bangs. Soomin blinks back. She probably looks stupid, but Hyerin doesn’t laugh.
“... It’s always fun to sing,” Soomin hesitates. She thinks of the first time she performed for her parents, their daily practices in Anakt Garden, and the first time she’d been brave enough to join Hyerin’s song. “But it’s more fun with you. Is that bad?”
Hyerin finally sets the book down and turns to face her. She reaches out and takes off Soomin’s glasses, which have left an aching mark on the side of her face. “It’s not bad. I just— I’ve been thinking, if you win Alien Stage, you’ll have to sing all by yourself from then on. Won’t that make you sad? I don’t want you to be sad.”
Soomin sits up, her half-made flower crown tumbling to the ground. The reason she got sent to Anakt Garden was to train her voice. Singing is one of the best things a pet-human can do for both them and their guardians. But if that means having to spend the rest of her life singing without Hyerin…
“We’ll have to win together,” she decides eventually, crossing her arms.
“Together?” Hyerin frowns. “There’s only one winner.
“That’s not a rule though, is it?” Soomin grabs her hand. Hyerin’s skin is always warm and soft against her own; it makes her stomach tingle. “Singing is always fun, but I only love it when it’s with you. So we’ll just have to win together.”
Hyerin snorts, covering her mouth with her other hand. “We’d have to tie every time,” she says, a small grin finally dawning on her face.
“We’ll sing the same songs, and always get the same score,” Soomin squeezes her hand tightly. “We’ll be the first-ever duo winners! Wouldn’t that make us super famous?”
“Probably,” Hyerin agrees contentedly. Their thighs touch as she leans her head against Soomin’s shoulder. “We’ll write songs together.”
Soomin cuddles closer. “You’ll have to write the lyrics, I'm no good at that. I'll… play all the instruments! Piano, and drums, and— and everything!” Her smile is so wide it hurts her cheeks, aching in tune with her heart at the sound of Hyerin’s bright laughter.
Every day, before curfew and after classes have ended, the ceilings of Anakt Garden open up. It’s not always late enough to get completely dark, but they can at least see the sunset. There’s probably some practical reason for it, but Soomin doesn’t know it, or care enough to ask. She’s happy enough to pull Hyerin along to the tallest hill, fall with her into the grass, and watch streaks of light slice through the dim sky.
The lenses of her glasses are smudged and dirty— Hyerin keeps reminding her to clean them, but she always forgets. Now, the beaming ships above them are blurry specks of fluorescence, leaving trails of silver and white. “You’re supposed to make a wish on shooting stars,” she tells Hyerin, wrapping her arm around her elbow to pull her closer.
“They’re not really stars,” Hyerin doesn’t struggle against her weak grip, letting Soomin cling to her. “It’s not dark enough to see them yet.”
“If you pretend they are, it works the same! Make a wish!” Soomin clenches her eyes shut and thinks, as hard as she can, I want to sing with Hyerin forever. I want to win with her so we're always together. She imagines that wish flying up to the sky and into the stars, resting there until it can come true. When she opens her eyes again, Hyerin is staring at her.
“Did you do it?” Soomin asks, a ticklish heat flickering in her cheeks. Hyerin’s gaze is deep and heavy, dark as the clouds surrounding the sun, but always soft when it’s on Soomin. It makes her skin itch with the overwhelming urge to impress her, to be someone worth looking at.
“I did,” Hyerin says, smiling. As Soomin lights up, she adds, “I can’t tell you what I wished for. It won’t come true then,” and Soomin deflates.
“Who made that rule?” Soomin sighs, hiding in the crook of Hyerin’s neck. She smells like lilac soap, the kind pet-humans get when well-behaved.
“You act like you’d tell me your wish if I asked.” Hyerin smooths Soomin’s hair out of her face, and her fingertips linger. They caress her eyebrows, a small freckle by the bridge of her nose, and the crook of her upper lip.
“You’ve probably guessed it already though,” Soomin feels Hyerin’s fingers move in sync with her words, following her mouth. She looks up, and Hyerin’s smile is silhouetted by the dimming sky. They’re close enough to share breath, for their eyelashes to brush when they blink.
“I think I have,” Hyerin moves her hand to cup Soomin’s cheek, and their lips meet.
It’s natural, but also electrifying, sending a tendril of shivering warmth and nerves up Soomin’s spine. She’s not sure what to do— she’s read about kissing before, but she’s never seen it, let alone done it herself. She turns her head so their noses don’t bump and their mouths can align more easily, clutching Hyerin’s sleeves nervously.
Their lips separate without a sound, and all is still, the world frozen around them. “That wasn’t my wish,” Soomin breathes eventually, then laughs at herself.
“Maybe it was mine,” Hyerin’s cheeks are a blossoming pink as she leans in again, capturing the bursts of Soomin’s laughter.
They kiss until the ceilings shut above them. Soomin’s mouth tingles the whole way back to their rooms, and before they separate, Hyerin pecks her cheek. Soomin’s dreams are echoes of laughter, lips, and starlight.
Their duet is perfect. Even on a huge stage, in front of a monstrous, unforgiving crowd, their hearts beat steadily as one. Soomin can’t take her eyes off Hyerin, whose white dress makes her look so pretty. The swelling music and flowing harmony of their voices flood her ears.
Sparkling bursts of pink illuminate their smiles, and as she sings, Soomin almost can’t hold back the need to hold Hyerin’s hand. She squeezes her microphone and imagines the two of them alone. In the grass, under the stars, playing in the river. Forever.
The music fades, and the air shakes with their heaving breaths. Soomin’s chest is warm. She can feel the tingling of Hyerin’s breath on her lips, only inches apart. The longing to kiss her that’s been growing since that night under the stars makes her face heat up and a shiver go down her spine. She smiles, and Hyerin returns it, soft and bright.
She’s beautiful. Soomin feels beautiful, too, knowing her love is returned just as deeply.
The blue light of the votes being tallied behind them makes her heart flutter anxiously, but she doesn’t look back, still focused on Hyerin. She wants this thrilling, content excitement to last forever; she wants them to share music until their lungs collapse.
The light flashes. The votes have all been sent in. Soomin’s breath quivers, torn between needing to know and—
Her face is suddenly splashed with something viscous and wet. It splatters from her cheeks to her forehead with a force that burns. She flinches at the sickly warmth, squeezing her eyes shut, and taking a fumbling step backward. When she opens them again, she doesn’t see Hyerin, and her gaze falls to the floor.
At first, she thinks Hyerin tripped over her heels. They’d practiced walking in them for hours before this, though, and it was always Soomin falling, helped up by a laughing Hyerin time and time again. Soomin touches her cheek, and when she pulls her hand away, dark red drips from her fingertips.
Soomin’s face is hot with flush, sweat, and blood. Hyerin is on the floor, and there’s blood on Soomin’s cheeks. She looks over her shoulder, dazed, and sees two bright numbers.
87 - 86
When her legs buckle and her hair falls in her face, the crowd begins to roar and applaud. Her knees ache, bruised by the metal of the stage, and the pain causes a switch in her to flip from shock to despair.
This isn’t right, her thoughts scream. When they lose the competition, they’re supposed to go to the Great Anakt, somewhere peaceful, where they can rest. This looks violent. It looks like death.
She crawls toward Hyerin’s body, stumbling and tearing her skin. She slaps her hands over her ears, trying to block out the inhuman cries of joy. They don’t care if she screams, cries, or curses; she’s just an object to them.
“Hyerin, I wasn’t trying to win,” she begs the silence. The words burn like knives crawling up her throat, choked by snot and bile. “I-I didn’t mean to… I thought—” her voice breaks as she heaves, reaching for Hyerin’s hand and lacing their fingers together. Her pale skin is deathly cold.
Hyerin’s tender smile slipped away the moment the bullets burst through her flesh. Her long lashes rest peacefully against her cheekbones, relaxed like she’s in a deep sleep. Blood is blooming on her arms, her chest, and her neck. Her dress is ruined by swelling patches of crimson.
Click!
Soomin doesn’t struggle as the aliens lock her collar back around her neck. They grab her arms and drag her off the stage, back to her seat. She stares at Hyerin until a thick hand grips her head and forces her to turn away, and then she squeezes her eyes shut. There’s nothing else worth looking at.
They took her backstage to undress her. She doesn’t make a sound as a huge, quiet creature undoes the clasps of her dress and underwear. She remains placid and obedient as it pulls off her boots and socks. Then it takes out a washcloth, and she screams. It forces the cloth onto her face as she wails and writhes, trying to kick its massive arm away. A second alien has to hold her arms and legs down with its tentacles as they clean Hyerin's blood off of her face and body.
When they finally finish, she goes limp, all fight drained out of her. She closes her eyes as they redress her in a white shirt and pants, manipulating her like a marionette. Their hands are both slimy and dry, goosebumps snaking up her skin as they grip her firmly.
The door opens and swings shut. Soomin is left alone.
She gasps once, twice, then she can’t breathe at all. Her chest clenches painfully and she fumbles to press two fingers under her jaw, feeling her pulse throb. She buries both hands in her hair and yanks, wailing so rawly her throat stings.
Her vision swims as her eyes are flooded by hot, aching tears. She imagines that the spinning lights are gleaming ships slicing through the skies over Anakt Garden, but that only hurts more. Her desperate heaving echoes in the empty room, still quieter than her thoughts. I’ll never see Hyerin again. She’s dead. There’s no Great Anakt, no Heaven, nowhere for us to be together. This is it.
Soomin presses her palms against her eyelids until bursts of purple and white blind her. “I lied,” she sobs, burying her head between her knees. “I can’t do this by myself, Hyerin-ah.”