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The stars twinkled, winking at each other.
And Hanbin, like a voyer, watched them converse.
He wasn't an outsider— no. Perhaps he was another one of them, in a different form. One who spoke a different language and sung a different song. But that didn't make him any less of a star.
The salty breeze of the ocean caressed his face in a gentle touch, fleeting. The world spins too fast and the trees burn too hot but the stars stay where they are, resolute in their positions.
Hanbin closes his eyes, hugging his knees to his chest.
The stars twinkle above while the moonlight constantly falls on the beach. He wonders how it must be: to know your destiny and stay there, the way the moon and the stars do. It must be so easy, right? Like biting into a piece of cake or running through a field of daisies.
It was twelve when he left his apartment. Maybe if he stays the rest of the night, the stars will pity him and bestow upon him the secret of belongingness.
The sounds from the city do not reach him here, painting the illusion that he is just as far away from it as the stars are. But it's a mirage, and Hanbin knows he'll wake up tomorrow morning wondering if he did the right thing.
The stars are a good friend. They listen to whatever Hanbin says. But he craves more. More in the way only a person can satiate.
The moon is old; maybe he could ask it a thing or two about growing up. Maybe it could tell him what to do when all his friends are getting married and having kids but he can not even find himself in the midst of all the chaos.
Maybe it could tell him why he feels as alienated as the sun.
He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes again. His mind buzzed like it's filled with TV static and no matter how much the trees try, the sound of their leaves rustling does not replace it.
That's when he hears it— a melody, slowly taking over the buzz in his head. It illuminates his mind the way the sun does after the rain. The melody sounds like a whisper in the night, so barely there, but it's the only thing he hears.
It unravels the knots in his mind with utmost gentleness, holding his thoughts between it's palms and soothing them until they're untangled.
His eyes shoot open as he stands up, straining to find the source. He walks into the direction of the breeze, through the trees, until he reaches the other side of the beach.
Hanbin sees a man's silhouette. The man faces the ocean, his back to him. His back, clad in a dark jacket, shields him from the wind, while his head remains bowed, lost in the melody.
It's so much more canorous now that he's closer. It lulls him into a land of clouds and gentle caresses, and Hanbin lets himself fall.
One step in front of the other, he walks towards the man, careful not to disturb him and waits. Waits until the song ends and the notes that linger in the air completely dissipate. The man takes in a puff of air, softly exhaling and opens his eyes.
“Your song— it's the most beautiful thing I've ever heard,” Hanbin whispers, trying not to disturb the stillness in the air between them.
The man nods, a bashful smile blooming on his face. He's incredibly gorgeous— has Hanbin starstruck.
“Are you a violinist?” He asks, because he simply can't let go of the opportunity to speak to the beautiful man in front of him. The man nods again.
Hanbin rubs the back of his neck, unsure of what to say now. The man doesn't seem to be talkative at all. Heat creeps up his neck and clings to his face and now even the ocean breeze does nothing to soothe it. Then, he hears the man's voice, soft as silk:
“Are you okay?”
The question takes him by surprise. He'd expected him to ask for his name, occupation, anything but this. For a moment, he freezes but the man waits, he doesn't ask again or even look impatient. His eyes remain trained on the waves that gently touch the shore.
“I don't know.”
The man hums. “That's okay.”
The man— Mr. Violinist, as Hanbin starts referring to him— sits down. Hanbin follows, this time sitting next to him, their knees knocking against each others. The rustling of the leaves and the sound of the waves wraps around them like a blanket.
The quietness of the night is the same as before, but there's a body pressed to his own now. For a while, they remain quiet, until Hanbin speaks again:
“Why are you here right now?”
The man looks straight ahead, as if an entity will emerge from the ocean to save them. The saviour never comes— Hanbin would know because he's waited years.
“Everything is too fast, or maybe I'm too slow. I can't keep up.”
Hanbin hums to show that he's listening. He's been there— felt too slow, too little.
“You're here too.” Mr. Violinist says, something between a statement and a question. “Why?”
“I've been lost— what if I'm wasting my time over something that isn't even my calling?”
“Then you start over.” He says, as if it's that easy. But there's a certain kind of confidence with which he says this, as if he's speaking from experience. Hanbin thinks he'll take his word for it.
“You know, Mr. Violinist, when I first heard your melody, I thought the stars had started singing.” Hanbin says, amusement staining his voice.
It's the first time Mr. Violinist looks at him during the night and Hanbin can not control the way he falls immediately. The man's eyes that meet his: round and glittering, rivaling the stars, encapsulating the entire universe in dark irises.
“Really, I'm Mr. Violinist now?” he asks, amused. His eyes crinkle and his cheeks rise with his smile. “And what are you?”
“You can call me Mr. Astronomer.” He smiles back.
Hanbin likes calling the sky his first love— the stars, the sun, the moon and the space in between: far apart, yet so close.
Mr. Violinist begins lowering himself to lay down. Hanbin doesn't think— just puts his hand under the other's head before it hits the ground. His palm brackets the back of the man's head.
“Sand is very difficult to wash off from the hair,” he offers as an explanation.
The other sits back up, taking off his jacket and laying it on the ground before resting his head there. He motions for Hanbin to follow, and he does. He doesn't think he could ever deny him anything.
Their heads on the man's jacket, bodies close, and Hanbin thinks this night is a blessing.
They stay quiet, letting the ocean breeze do the speaking for them. He looks to his side to find the other's eyes closed, but a slight smile remains plastered on his pretty face. Hanbin takes this moment to look— really look— at his face. Thick brows. Large eyes. Hair that spills over the jacket like dark waves. Tall nose, plush lips.
“Where will you go after this?” Mr. Violinist asks, eyes still closed, though they flutter open when soft wind kisses his face.
Hanbin thinks.
Home? Does it even qualify as one? Where will he go? To his job, to his apartment.
“I don't know.” He admits.
“That's okay, you know?” He pauses, as if to let that factory settle in Hanbin's mind. Then continues, “If it makes it any better, I don't know either.”
It doesn't make him feel better in the way it should. But it does give him a sense of belonging, as weird as it sounds.
Maybe when he wanders, it doesn't have to be alone.
“I dropped my business major to study the stars. Sometimes I wonder if I even made the right choice.”
Maybe it's something about the violinist, and the way his fingers play him like the violin.
Maybe it's something about the way the other pries him open without ever saying a single word.
Maybe, for once, he's found another star on earth.
“If you wanted to, then it can't be the wrong choice.” Mr. Violinist says, wise.
“But it hurts.” Tears threaten to spill over his cheeks as the words leave his mouth. Once again, he becomes aware of the sounds of vehicles far in the distance, the artificial lights of buildings barely spilling over but still there.
“Doing what's right for you can hurt too. Pain doesn't make it wrong.”
Hanbin briefly wonders if he's speaking to some angel right now, here simply so he could help Hanbin out of his crisis.
Then, his angel continues:
“I came here from China. It sounds silly, Mr. Astronomer, but I feel homeless. This feels like an exile.”
Hanbin cannot even begin to fathom how difficult it must be for the other. Walking around in a sea of strangers, passing through unfamiliar streets as though you're a ghost.
He doesn't know how to offer comfort in a way that'll give the other man a home. He presses his legs against the other's.
“Well, this beach is our little home now, isn't it?”
Mr. Violinist opens his eyes, their ends crinkling. His cheeks rise as a puff of sir escapes his lips in a laugh.
“Yeah— yeah, I guess it is.”
When Hanbin's hand finds the violinist's in the midst of shuffling around, he realises that his heart feels a lot lighter than it was before and this time, it isn't just from crying to the stars.
He doesn't believe in saviours, but he believes in companions, soulmates. He believes in holding someone's hand in the storm, even if that doesn't make the storm disappear.
The love is here. It doesn't change anything, but it matters that the love is here.
“You feel like my mirror, Mr. Violinist.”
The other looks at him, a question on his face. Yet, he doesn't deny it. A part of Hanbin, giddy and hopeful, believes that he thinks so too.
The universe, the sky and the stars have always been Hanbin's first love. He thinks the violinist is too. Or is there even a difference between the two? When the man looks like a fallen star or a fragment of the moon himself?
“Music is the universe's love song, isn't it? Thank you for letting me hear yours.” Hanbin says, more joy than he is human.
There's a safety in anonymity. Maybe that's why Hanbin admits the things to the violinist that he wouldn't admit to his parents. Or maybe, it's simply the company of someone who's just like him.
Mr. Violinist hums in response. “I'm glad you did.”
Then, the other sits up, Hanbin following suit. “I have to go now,” he mutters almost to himself. Almost as if he's convincing himself to leave.
His head turns to Hanbin's, gleaming eyes meeting his. “Thank you for being here. With me. I'm convinced you are my saviour.”
Tears well up in Hanbin's eyes.
“I'd rather be your companion, your confidant.” His voice barely above a whisper.
“Can we meet again?” The man's hands intertwine with his and all Hanbin can think about is how this feels so, so right.
“Right here. Under the stars, your song around us.”
Up above, the stars wink at each other. The moon radiates a little brighter in joy. Sometimes belongingness doesn't lie in a place, but a person.