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Hongjoong let his legs dangle off the edge of the skyscraper, the city’s hum far below him a distant murmur. His feet swung gently, as if keeping time with the rhythm of his thoughts.
Above him, the stars stretched across the night sky, their faint glow mingling with the golden grid of city lights that sprawled endlessly into the horizon. This was his sanctuary, the highest point in the city, where he always came to untangle the knots in his mind. The stars had always been his companions, their quiet brilliance a reminder that even in the vastness of the universe, there was a place for him. But tonight, they felt different—distant, dimmer, as if they too had lost their spark.
He stared at the sky, searching for the comfort it once gave him, but the stars seemed to flicker weakly, their light swallowed by the weight of his thoughts. The city below, with its endless noise and motion, felt like a world he no longer belonged to. For a moment, he leaned forward, his gaze fixed on the ground far below. The wind tugged at his clothes, whispering questions he wasn’t sure he could answer. Would this be the last time he sat here, the last time he felt the cool night air on his skin? The thought lingered, heavy and unrelenting.
But then, as if the stars had heard his silent plea, a faint glimmer caught his eye. One star, small but persistent, seemed to shine a little brighter than the others. It was a fragile light, but it was enough. Hongjoong took a deep breath, the cold air filling his lungs, and slowly stood up. He stepped back from the edge, his heart still heavy but his resolve steadier. He turned his face to the sky one last time, as if to thank the stars for their quiet companionship, even in their dimmed state.
Hongjoong stepped into the elevator, the soft hum of machinery filling the silence as the doors slid shut. He leaned against the wall, his mind still clouded with thoughts he couldn’t quite untangle. The descent felt slower than usual, as if the universe was giving him one last moment to reflect before returning to the world below. When the doors finally opened, he stepped out into the lobby, the polished floors reflecting the sterile glow of overhead lights. It was late, and the building was nearly empty, save for a lone figure sitting on one of the sleek, modern benches near the entrance.
The man looked up as Hongjoong approached, his sharp features softened by the warm light of the lobby. His dark hair fell slightly over his eyes, and he wore a long coat that seemed to swallow his frame. There was something about him—something calm and steady—that made Hongjoong pause. The man smiled faintly, as if he could sense Hongjoong’s unease.
“Late night?” the man asked, his voice smooth and quiet, like the buzz of the city outside.
Hongjoong nodded, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Yeah. You?”
“Just waiting for someone,” the man replied, though his eyes lingered on Hongjoong, as if he could see right through him. “You look like you’ve got a lot on your mind.”
Hongjoong hesitated. He wasn’t used to talking to strangers, especially not about the things that weighed on him. But there was something about this man’s presence that felt safe, like the stars used to feel. “I guess I do,” he admitted quietly.
The man patted the space beside him on the bench. “Sit. If you want.”
Hongjoong hesitated for a moment longer before sitting down. The bench was cool beneath him, and the silence between them was comfortable, not heavy. After a moment, the man spoke again.
“I’m Seonghwa,” he said, extending a hand.
“Hongjoong,” he replied, shaking it. Seonghwa’s grip was firm but not overpowering, and his hand was warm.
“Nice to meet you, Hongjoong,” Seonghwa said, leaning back slightly. “You know, I come here sometimes too. When I need to think. There’s something about this building—it feels like it’s closer to the sky, doesn’t it?”
Hongjoong glanced at him, surprised. “Yeah. That’s exactly it.”
Seonghwa smiled, a small, knowing curve of his lips. “I thought so. You have that look about you. Like you’re searching for something.”
Hongjoong didn’t respond right away. He wasn’t sure how to put into words what he was feeling—or what he wasn’t feeling. But Seonghwa didn’t push. He simply sat there, patient and steady, as if he had all the time in the world.
After a while, Hongjoong found himself talking. He told Seonghwa about the stars, about how they used to bring him peace but now felt distant and cold. He talked about the city, about how it felt like it was closing in on him, and about the thoughts that had been swirling in his mind lately. Seonghwa listened without judgment, his gaze focused and kind.
When Hongjoong finally fell silent, Seonghwa nodded slowly. “I think I understand,” he said. “Sometimes, the things that used to bring us light stop working. But that doesn’t mean there isn’t light somewhere else. You just have to find it.”
Hongjoong looked at him, searching his face. “And if I can’t?”
Seonghwa’s smile softened. “Then you keep looking. And sometimes, you find it in the most unexpected places.” He paused, then added, “Or people.”
Hongjoong felt something shift inside him, something small but significant. For the first time in weeks, the weight on his chest felt a little lighter. “Thanks,” he said quietly. “I… I think I needed to hear that.”
Seonghwa nodded. “Anytime.” He glanced at his watch and stood up. “I should probably get going. But if you ever need someone to talk to, or just someone to sit with, I’m around. This building isn’t the only place to find peace, you know.”
Hongjoong stood as well, feeling a strange reluctance to let the moment end. “Yeah, I'll...I’ll see you around.”
Seonghwa gave him one last smile before turning to leave. “Take care, Hongjoong.”
As Hongjoong watched him walk away, he felt a flicker of something he hadn’t felt in a long time—hope. Maybe the stars hadn’t lost their light. Maybe he just needed to see them through someone else’s eyes for a while.
---
Over the next few weeks, Hongjoong found himself running into Seonghwa more often. Sometimes in the lobby of the skyscraper, sometimes at a café nearby, and once, unexpectedly, at a small music shop tucked away in a quiet part of the city. Each time, they talked—about the stars, about life, about the things that made them laugh and the things that kept them up at night. Slowly, Hongjoong began to feel like himself again, like the colors of the world were coming back into focus.
Seonghwa became a constant in his life, a steady presence that reminded him that even on the darkest nights, there was always a light somewhere, waiting to be found. And for the first time in a long time, Hongjoong felt like he could breathe without suffocating in the walls of his mind.
Hongjoong’s gaze softened as it drifted across the night sky, but slowly, almost imperceptibly, it shifted—not toward the stars above, but toward the memory of Seonghwa. It was as if Seonghwa had hung each star himself, carefully placing them in the heavens just to light Hongjoong’s way. But the truth was, Seonghwa had become his star. Not the distant, cold kind that flickered indifferently in the inky darkness that made up the universe, but the kind that burned brightly, steadily, and close enough to touch. Seonghwa’s light was warm, unwavering, and alive, a beacon that had guided Hongjoong through nights far darker than this one.
Hongjoong’s chest tightened as he thought of him, of the way Seonghwa’s laughter could outshine even the brightest constellations, of the way his presence could make the world feel less vast and less lonely. The stars above paled in comparison, their distant glow no match for the radiance Seonghwa carried within him. It was Seonghwa who had taught him that light didn’t always come from the sky—sometimes, it came from the people who stood beside you, who held your hand when the world felt too heavy, who reminded you that even in the darkest moments, you were never truly alone.
As Hongjoong stood there, the city’s noise fading into the background, he realized that the stars hadn’t lost their magic—they had simply been outshone. Seonghwa had become his anchor, his light, his reason to keep looking up. And in that moment, Hongjoong felt a quiet gratitude settle over him, a warmth that seeped into the cracks of his weary heart. He didn’t need the stars to guide him anymore. He had Seonghwa, Seonghwa had become his compass, his guiding light, and that was enough.
Seonghwa had become his star.