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Jimin drifted in and out of sleep, delirious from the treatments he received from the medical staff who had just tried to save him about a few hours prior.
Even his thoughts felt weak. Not only was his body tired of fighting, but his mind, too.
He turned his head toward the monitors beside his bed, beeping and blinking every so often—the machines keeping him alive.
He heard the doctor speaking to his parents earlier; that perhaps they should consider a different sort of care—they should take him off the machines, make him comfortable as nature took care of the rest.
Jimin felt tears trickle out of the corner of his eyes.
He was going to die. He could no longer be saved. The disease won.
I’m only twenty, he thought, his gaze shifting to the window. I could have so much more.
It was dark outside. The window wasn’t big enough to show the whole sky, but Jimin knew there were many, many stars up there beyond the limits of his view.
Will you let me live? He asked the ones he could see, the andante of the twinkling light falling in sync with his heartbeat. Is there a way you will let me live?
Jimin saw no shooting star, but he wished on the sky, anyway. He spent so many years doing it—at first idly, but then desperately.
Please let me live.
His illness had always been unforgiving.
The stars were his only solace, a beautiful sight away from the sterility of hospitals, away from sickness. He found freedom and serenity there, and for all his love he had for it, he just wanted something in return.
I want to live, Jimin said to the stars, letting his eyes flutter closed. The pain medication took over, lulling him to sleep. He hoped he would have another chance to wake up so he could wish upon the stars again.
But more logical parts of him would understand if he didn’t make it to the morning—the parts of him that knew he lost.
He just really wished it didn’t end this way.
The number of stars in the sky was endless. Millions upon millions scattered everywhere. Humans never knew where to look first. Each twinkled the same, just as bright and as pretty as the other.
There were far more of them than people. What was a single star to a single human?
A favorite star—preposterous. A naive idea. Humans did not know the stars. They knew nothing of the souls that collected heat and light into balls and claimed them as their own, the nymphs that watched the humans from afar, waiting for the dying to ascend to the skies.
Everything upon the Earth started as rock and stardust, and that was what they would become in the end. Star nymphs made sure the mortals died peacefully.
Again, from afar.
Star nymphs did not interact with them. The mortals could wish upon them and feel blessed by the sights above them, but the nymphs did not get close to humans. It was forbidden and had been as far back as Creation.
They were never meant to fall in love.
It was an odd rule that stood out in Jungkook’s mind. Living humans didn’t often see them in the first place, so what happened to put the rule in place?
He heard stories, but not once had he ever seen it happen in his cluster of the universe. He only knew wistful gazes and wide-eyed stares from mortals. That was nothing. Jungkook had never been in love, in the eons he had come to be, but he knew it wasn’t so simple.
He told himself he didn’t need it—never needed it and never will. Star nymphs didn’t look upon the earth beyond the mass of mortals looking back. Unlike them, they did not pick out a favorite human.
So tell him why he decided to look down on this particular night, eyes piercing through the layers of Earth, and focus on one slumbering mortal boy with dark brown hair.
Why did Jungkook suddenly find himself getting closer and closer to him, shooting through the earthen skies towards the ground?
The Star Creator didn’t explain a lot of things, but this was ridiculous.
Jungkook manifested fluidly into a dark room facing a window, his aura the only source of light. The pinpoints of light in the sky outside indicated he was far from home.
He soon became aware of the steady beep of mortal contraptions and the shallow breathing between their rhythms.
Jungkook turned and found a curled shape in the bed. There was a head of messy brown hair and half a face revealed by the blanket he tucked himself in. He looked like he had been facing the window at the small, but surprisingly beautiful, view of the city sky before he fell asleep.
Jungkook stepped around the corner of the bed and moved toward him. This was the closest he has ever been to a mortal. He illuminated himself bright enough to see his features clearly. He looked a bit gaunt, and his body under the blanket seemed tiny and fragile. It was clear that he was very sick. Dying.
It became very obvious why Jungkook was brought here, but he still didn’t understand why he came so close. Star nymphs never appeared personally.
There was a soft groan, and Jungkook couldn’t tear his eyes away from the ones fluttering open. They were so pretty, with curves and sparkling darkness that looked like galaxies.
Galaxies that focused right on him.
Jungkook hitched a breath and took a step back.
He sees me.
“So bright,” the boy commented, every breath and effort, every sound a crackling strain.
Jungkook opened his mouth, and then closed it. He expected shock from the boy, maybe even fear, but perhaps he was too sick even for that.
“I’m dreaming,” the boy said. His smile was weak but sweet.
“If… you want to be.” There was something soothing about the way the boy looked at him. Even inside that crumbling body, his soul radiated with robust kindness.
Yet he also saw the obvious sadness, the broken helplessness that flashed in his eyes for a second before beaming again, as if they had never known the tears Jungkook saw drying on his cheeks.
“A dream,” the boy whispered, “or I'm… close. You… are you my guardian angel?”
“Your what?” Jungkook couldn’t help but scoff. Mortals and their stories. “You made a wish.”
“I wished for a glowing boy in a glittering toga?”
Jungkook sucked in a cheek at his humor. “On a star.”
“A… A star?” The boy wrapped the blanket tighter around himself, gazing at him with awe. He looked warmer and healthier somehow—the light Jungkook exuded seemed to rejuvenate him a little. “And you grant wishes?”
“We do our best.” Jungkook’s stomach curled as he stopped himself from adding the rest.
And we watch you die and come back home.
“We were always told that stars are just round balls of burning gasses.”
Jungkook smiled, but only briefly. “Doesn’t sound flattering.”
“I mean, science proved it.”
“Science only proves a smidgeon of the whole truth,” the nymph huffed.
The boy blinked at him, confused.
“I mean, do you believe that you’re no more than a flesh sack of blood and bone?”
The boy’s eyes suddenly filled with something dark, more than that flash of sadness; it was a cloudy, brewing storm.
Jungkook sort of, kind of, wholly regretted what he said.
“Yes and no,” he answered, even though Jungkook hadn’t expected a response at all.
The nymph quirked a brow, silently prodding him to go on.
“People are capable of so much,” the boy explained.
“I’m not new to mortal capabilities.”
The boy only smiled, eyes half-lidded, lost in memories. “I had huge dreams before all this… happened. I wanted to be a star.” He grinned at Jungkook’s puzzled expression. “Not like you, of course—I wanted to light up a stage.”
Jungkook shifted uncomfortably. He didn’t like the brilliance of the boy’s gaze, or the hope in his heart practically beating out of his chest. He didn’t like the optimism in his tone, the smile he tossed nanoseconds after turning to look at the reality threatening his dreams beside the bed, attached like additional appendages, beeping steadily.
He didn’t like being aware that the boy will die.
It must be why we never get close.
“But that’s all we are in the end, huh?” the boy continued, rolling onto his back with care. “Flesh, blood, and bone. And I'm…” His words tapered off as if his sentence was taboo, but Jungkook heard the rest of it in his silence.
And I’m more fragile than most.
Jungkook didn’t respond. Instead, he stepped closer, losing himself in the boy’s eyes as he tried to read him. Strange, the way he lit up the night with just a gaze, despite everything else about him fading fast.
“If you’re here,” the boy murmured, “does that mean you’re going to grant my wish?”
Jungkook received wishes all the time, but granting them was really more or less a gamble. Nymphs could do no more than plea with the Star Creator; it was incredibly choosy and sometimes cruel.
And now it told both Jungkook and the boy that the latter was to return to the stars sooner rather than later.
Greedy for his light, Jungkook reasoned, humoring himself, his smile small and easy as his eyes traveled over the soft, attractive angles of the boy’s face. Everything about him rivals the Earth’s star.
“I want to,” Jungkook replied. He could not be direct with him, but he could give him a pleasant and hopeful half-lie before he passed. That was part of his job, wasn’t it? To comfort from afar, beckon them home.
It’s not so bad, is it? Jungkook wondered. It may take a while, but he’ll become a star again. He’ll be in the sky, doing as I do. Maybe with more compassion. Maybe close to me.
But earthen life—that was an experience, too, and the boy wanted it. He wanted it bad. He carried so many stars in his eyes already; what was the hurry to become one?
“Want to?” the boy repeated, sounding a little crestfallen. “You’re not sure, are you? Then… then why are you here?”
Jungkook didn’t need to answer. The boy was intuitive, seeing as much in him as Jungkook did. A deity, even a lesser one, should practice indifference, and this human saw right through him.
“It’s okay if you can’t.” The boy tucked himself into his blanket again, tighter than ever. Jungkook saw that he was shivering. So fragile. “I guess keeping someone like me here is too much to ask.”
“Your wish,” Jungkook said softly, coming closer, warmer and warmer. “You want to live.”
The boy smiled a little, sickly exhausted but charming. Of course I do, it seemed to say, but—
“Wrong,” he replied, but Jungkook could tell he was lying. He felt his pleas in his soul, wrapped in ribbons of hope like he wanted to gift the star creator with promises that he would use his life well. “My wish is to have one last kiss.”
“A… kiss?”
“I’ve never been kissed before,” he murmured, looking him in the eye, pools as dark as space. “So, that’s my wish.”
But Jungkook swore he felt the sharp, desperate longing to live a full mortal life, to bask in the freedom of humanity, unshackled from illness. It vibrated in his soul.
Still, it wasn’t as if he could guarantee the boy’s unspoken wish. A kiss was the least he could do.
He bent over and propped his hand on the boy’s opposite side. He stared at him for a moment, in wonder of someone so close to death whose glow seemed to battle his own for dominance.
The boy’s eyes fell on his. “What’s your name?” He asked, his voice serene and accepting.
“Jungkook.”
“Jungkook,” he sighed, eyes curving to crescent moons as Jungkook dipped closer. “I’m Jimin.”
“Jimin,” Jungkook repeated. Knowing his name made him feel a bit sad. Jimin could have shined on his planet—beyond anyone’s wildest dreams.
But the Star Creator did not want him here for whatever reason. At least Jungkook could rest easy, knowing Jimin would soon come back home.
“Rest well, Jimin.”
Jungkook pressed his lips to his. Jimin felt warmer than expected; softer, too. Gentle light, gentle soul.
“Thank you,” Jimin whispered, his breath weak against Jungkook’s face.
They held gazes for a moment longer before Jimin’s eyes closed. He looked satisfied. Probably not complete, but he could go peacefully now.
I’m sorry.
After Jimin fell asleep again, Jungkook turned away to glance at the stars, then shifted to the moon. He could sense the Creator and some of his kin nearby in auric prickles on his skin, probably with wishes and deaths to tend to, as well.
He closed his eyes, too. He took in the lingering longing of Jimin’s soul—incredibly strong, sharper than the sting of fire. It comforted him. Him, the star nymph—a deity.
Creator, please. Let this one be. Let him live fully. He deserves it all.
On the next moon turn on Earth, Jungkook found himself thinking of Jimin’s gaze, full of galaxies, smiling at him.
Honestly—it took only one instance of his feet touching Earth and he already experienced mortal attraction. It was thick like the rock planet itself, dense like its molten core.
And that attraction, he figured, forced him into his gravity again.
A single star to a single human, indeed.
But it was natural that it happened eventually, right? Like all humans, Jimin was part of the universe, made not just of earth, but of the cosmos.
Jungkook was beginning to loathe the contradictions of the Creator. People were stars, too, albeit ones with much shorter lifespans, limited with the process of decay. The Earth was a poisonous place, really, and its lifeforms had not adapted fully; they were still incredibly fragile to it.
He kept all this in mind as he appeared at his bedside again. Attraction is a reasonable thing, he told himself. Not a simple excuse, but an evident truth.
“You’re here,” Jimin exclaimed, sitting up as soon as Jungkook’s glow shone on him.
He looks good in gold.
Jungkook cleared his throat, as if it could clear his head of the sudden thought, and stepped toward the side of the bed.
“I… I am,” he replied, stunned at how much healthier he looked. His face was softer, with curves rather than angular bone, his shoulders rounder and his skin dewy. Beautiful.
His heart skipped a beat.
Mortal attraction.
Jimin smiled in relief. “I thought I’d never see you again. I’m not… you know, that anymore.”
Jungkook stopped for a moment, letting the thought settle in his mind. He sounded stronger, too. And he only now noticed the machines in the room, no longer tethered to him. They sat in darkness instead, in one corner of the room
“So what brings you here, Jungkook?”
“I wanted—” Jungkook paused, arrested by Jimin’s soft, fond, hopeful gaze. It took him a few full seconds before he could force his eyes away, dipping them down to the tiled floor.
Just imagine—a star nymph, a lesser deity, bashful of a mere human being.
No… Jimin was no ordinary human being. He meant something—Jungkook’s single favorite out of the sea of mortals.
A single human to a single star, his mind whispered again, taunting him.
“I wanted to see you.”
Jimin’s lips parted, eyes wide with surprise. “Me? Really?” He sounded quite flattered. He lifted a hand toward his face. “Am I still dreaming?”
Jungkook caught Jimin’s hand in his. A dense sort of warmth rushed down Jungkook’s arm, filling his body with a needful ache he couldn’t explain.
“You thought it was a dream?”
“… Wasn’t it? Isn’t this one?”
“No,” he replied, and gave him a small smile. “You’re awake, Jimin.”
Without thinking, Jungkook squeezed his hand, as if making sure himself, that this was real. Jimin’s hand was soft and smooth in his palm, and his eyes were sharp, no longer hazy with gloom. His smile was full of gratitude, pure in its light.
Realization seeped into Jungkook slowly, but with clarity.
He had kissed Jimin and it saved him.
He saved him.
“Can I have a real kiss, then?”
“You didn’t think the last one was?”
“Was it?”
Jungkook leaned down, the fringe of his hair grazing Jimin’s. “It made your wish come true, didn’t it?”
“Hm, you’re right.”
Just like that, they kissed.
Jungkook’s heart stuttered and unfurled like nebulae. It was much better than the one before. Easy and sweet, and in some ways, realer. He felt the weight of the emotion between them, tying him to Earth, to Jimin. The feeling struck him exquisitely, like answers to the questions he kept deep in his soul. He felt inexplicably complete.
He wondered how many more wishes Jimin had; he wanted to grant every one of them.
Jimin no longer needed to stay at the hospital and was sent home a few days later.
Jungkook visited him each one of those days and every one after that. The number of kisses each day increased with their growing attraction, and Jimin looked overall better each day.
Jungkook felt weightless; an odd concept, being a star nymph with no weight to be had, but he floated like the clouds, airy and free.
But as he laid in Jimin’s bed with him, the moon high and full outside the much larger, clearer window; as they kissed, embraced, and groaned into each other’s mouths, he remembered why star nymphs never fell for mortals.
Jimin felt it for sure. His hand rose to touch his bottom lip, the glowing dust that coated it like balm, while Jungkook stared, stricken.
“What’s this?” Jimin stared at his fingers where it stained, eyes wide. “… Glitter? How—”
“Stardust,” Jungkook murmured, forcing a smile on his lips.
“You never did this before.”
“It means…” Jungkook said carefully, his chest aching, dreading. “It means I’m falling in love with you.”
Jimin’s eyes turned to smooth, pretty crescents, and his lips spread wider, still sparkling; so gorgeous. For a moment—several moments—the awful feelings dissipated and Jungkook forgot who he and Jimin were.
So he dipped down to kiss him again, spreading more stardust, more shimmer on his lips, his cheeks, down his neck. Jimin’s melodious giggles filled the air, hands combing through his hair, more stardust coming off and coating his hands. They became a wonderful, glittery mess.
But the most painful truth of being a star nymph in love still prowled the back of his mind like an ominous shadow.
That not only did it mean falling in love with a human, but the gradual loss of his identity as a nymph, as well.
It became more difficult shooting back to the stars.
Jungkook didn’t want Jimin to see the contortion on his face when he tried, so he began spending entire nights with him. Single nights turned into weeks, into months. A few of those passed, according to Jimin; Jungkook was still learning to grasp the mortal concept of time, of moon turns filled with happiness, a few shy of a full circle around the sun.
“Can you like, turn off that light?” Jimin wondered idly as Jungkook slipped into bed with him.
It’s been dimming. I’ve dimmed so much that the rest of my kind wouldn’t be able to find me down here.
“Too bright for you?” Jungkook asked.
“Not really—I think I’m getting used to it.” Jimin reached out and tucked a bit of pink hair out of his eyes. “When I first met you, you nearly blinded me.”
Jungkook forced a laugh. The welt in his heart only grew as he did; there was no way he could push his mind away from it.
He lifted a hand to clutch his own chest through the wispy clothing he wore. He felt weight—burdens from his situation, the magnitude of his feelings for Jimin. So much tethered him here.
Jimin frowned. “Are you okay?”
Jungkook decided to be truthful. “My chest feels… heavy.”
Jimin snuggled against him and placed his hand atop Jungkook’s. He felt warmer than Jungkook did; calming. “What do you mean?”
“It’s blunt and it swells,” Jungkook explained as he rolled to his side to face him. “It presses and squeezes and sometimes I can’t breathe. It slows me and weakens me, and yet…” He watched Jimin’s expression to gauge a reaction, but his lover simply stared, patient and attentive. “I feel happy, too. Happier than I’ve ever been since I came to be.“
Jimin blushed, rose pink tinging the soft golden light shining on him. He looked like a deity himself. For a moment, Jungkook was breathless.
"More than you’ve ever been?” he repeated. “Even though you’re a star?”
Jungkook had no doubts. “Definitely.”
“It must be your heart,” Jimin muttered. He squeezed Jungkook’s hand, as if wrapping around his heart itself.
“I’ve always had one. But–”
“Human hearts are heavier, I think. Everything about us is heavier.” Jimin’s nose skimmed along Jungkook’s jawline, gently taking in his scent. “Physically, mentally—we’re just made to be filled with the things you mentioned.”
“My brain,” Jungkook spoke up, grunting softly at Jimin nipping the skin on his neck. “That, too.”
“Huh?”
“It’s filled with you.”
He rolled Jimin onto his back and crawled over his form, dotting kisses over his face, creating constellations on his smooth skin.
Jimin’s content hum transformed into breathy giggles. His hands slid over Jungkook’s chest and moved downward, taking the cloth with it. It slipped down his shoulders, stripping him to his waist.
Neither said a thing, but Jungkook could read the dark allure in Jimin’s expression. Desire. Unfamiliar, but natural. It trailed fire along his skin, straight into his nerves, as Jimin’s eyes roamed over his bare body.
“Jimin…”
He didn’t know he could produce such a needful sigh. He felt the cosmos in his breath, his feelings for him ardent and true.
In reply, Jimin mewled, head lifting slightly, catching Jungkook’s bottom lip between his teeth to pull him down.
Jungkook was surprised at first, barely responding. But he soon felt hotter than the stars ever did, a piercingly hot spark eliciting a hunger previously unfathomable to him; and oh, he craved Jimin.
He growled desperately into Jimin’s mouth. His lips and hands smeared stardust everywhere on his warm, soft body. Just like that, he felt everything that kept him guarded from humans fall apart and rain on Jimin.
When he peered upward to glance at him as his lips trailed down his bare stomach, he found Jimin’s lips parted in an O, his face coated in cluttered speckles of his light; beautifully, sexily stained.
Jimin noticed his pause and lazily shifted his gaze downward. He giggled breathily. “You’re gonna make me sparkle down there, too?”
Jungkook grinned as he drank eyefuls of his lover. They were both covered in stardust, but Jimin even more. The nymph made out handprints and lip marks and bites, trails where his hands roamed. Jimin could pass for a galaxy.
“If that’s okay,” he replied in a soft voice.
Jimin smiled, fingers threading encouragingly into Jungkook’s hair.
“Make me a star, Jungkook.”
And so, Jungkook did. He took Jimin to the stars and made him one, through warm mouths and pleading moans. He took in the earthy taste of this beautiful mortal, letting his soul sweep over his in ways neither thought possible.
He didn’t know how much time they spent being lost in each other. He didn’t fully grasp the concept, anyway; he just understood enough to know how much happened between them, all wondrous and dreamily intimate.
Before he knew it, a tuckered-out Jimin curled into this broader form, falling asleep to starry luster instead of plain darkness. The copious amounts of stardust coated him enough to almost feel like home.
“I love you,” Jungkook breathed against his forehead as he shut his eyes.
He didn’t intend to say those words; they came out on their own. As foreign as they were on his tongue, they felt realer than the dirt outside. His soul stirred with the sentiment, and it was the only thing he ever wanted to feel.
“I love you, too,” Jimin whispered, who apparently hadn’t been asleep, after all. He squeezed Jungkook to him.
I don’t want you to leave me; that was what the gesture pleaded.
Longing but defeated.
Jungkook’s heart twisted with an awful pang as he became acutely aware of Jimin remembering what he was.
He probably never forgot; it was probably on his mind just as often as the stardust was on Jungkook’s.
It hurt both of them to think about, and all Jungkook could do was gently sweep the damp, sex-mussed hair away from jimin’s forehead and kiss away the furrow of his worried brows.
If only Jungkook could wish upon stars, too.
It didn’t take long for Jimin to notice his recent patterns.
“You’ve been staying here every night.”
Jungkook hitched a breath. Even now, he didn’t feel prepared to talk about his ability loss. “So?”
“Being on Earth can’t be that exciting. Much less my tiny bedroom.”
The longer I stay, the harder I fall.
“You’re here.” Jungkook smiled at him reassuringly. “That’s exciting.”
Jimin laughed and pushed his shoulder playfully, and Jungkook couldn’t help but think how much the little things mattered on Earth—the pretty lilts in Jimin’s laughter, the softness of his goose down feather blanket they shared and tangled themselves in; the soft breezes of spring, swirling random patterns around the trees and their bodies when they went out.
The big things didn’t feel as important. The universe could let his thoughts dim, let all his light dim. He only needed Jimin’s.
Jimin had been teaching him a lot. Just the other day, he explained what star-crossed lovers meant.
“Us, I guess,” Jimin had told him, when Jungkook asked for an example that wasn’t from human fiction. “A relationship like ours should be doomed.”
Jungkook remembered that word the most: doomed. But were they really? Were they supposed to be?
A star nymph and a human from Earth. Immortal and mortal. A story like that should end in tragedy. Love like that should be transient; only enough for them to catch the flavor of bliss before the storm strikes.
But Jungkook’s situation made their love permanent. He was becoming rooted to the earth like everything else here was. It also meant distance and deafness from the stars—Jungkook could no longer hear or feel the other nymphs, and he could easily mistake the Star Creator’s presence for a brush of wind.
He should feel worse about it, but he didn’t. He was rather happy on Earth, fully savoring his bliss rather than just having a tasteful lick.
And star-crossed was a ridiculous term. His star crossed with this beautiful, radiant human being, and everything just ended up better.
He just needed the courage to tell him everything.
But what was there to be afraid of? Jimin wasn’t going to judge him. He wouldn’t love him any less.
“Jungkook, come on.”
Jungkook blinked, grounding himself again. He shifted his attention back to Jimin, who was holding his hand and gently pulling him along late that night to the park.
They were out together, away from his place for once in weighted mortal clothing and glowing skin muted enough to pass as one. His lover had driven them out to an area on the outskirts of town, away from industrialization, where the sky was clearer and the stars were more plentiful. He wanted to show Jungkook how humans saw them.
“Better view than at home, right?” Jimin spoke up, glancing back at him fondly.
Jungkook shrugged as they reached the top of a damp, grassy hill. The perfect view, he assumed. “I guess.”
He gazed upward. Clusters of twinkling white dots looked back, silent and still.
It must be daunting, feeling so small; to be stared at by millions of distant, mysterious lights, not knowing how they came to be or why they existed. Not until they died, at least. It was why they made up stories to help them sleep at night—gods and goddesses and faceless overlords.
Jimin, meanwhile, had haunted fascination in his expression. That’s where you’re from, he must be thinking. That’s where we’re from.
Jungkook cleared his throat to catch his attention. The sound startled Jimin a bit, a tiny jolt in his soft, slender form, but he giggled as he turned to him.
“I’m sorry,” he muttered, placing a kiss against Jungkook’s chin. “I got distracted.”
“What, am I not enough?” Jungkook teased, his lips ghosting over his cheekbone. “What other star do you need?”
Jimin hummed something gravelly and seductive as he pulled Jungkook against him by the front of his shirt. Their chests pressed warmly, and he found himself wanting more; he wanted to be surrounded by Jimin’s love.
His smiled wavered, though. Just slightly.
For him to seek warmth—it meant his star fire was cooling.
“Hey, Jungkook?”
“Hm?”
Jimin touched his own cheek, fingers against the light imprint of stardust stained there. “You aren’t shedding much anymore.”
Jungkook swallowed. He was hoping he wouldn’t directly bring it up. “And?”
“Does… does that mean you’re falling out of love with me?”
He looked like he was about to tear up, and Jungkook immediately held the boy to him. He didn’t think Jimin would come to that kind of conclusion.
“I mean, it’d make sense, right? You have to go back eventually…”
“Of course not,” he murmured, burying his face into his hair. “I love you more than ever.”
The words did not soothe him. He remained stiff in his arms. “Then what does it mean?”
Jungkook’s heart thumped nervously, and Jimin felt it.
“Jungkook,” Jimin said with a bit of warning. “Don’t lie to me.”
Jungkook had to tell him at some point. He would never be ready to tell him, so he might as well get it over with.
“I’m running out of stardust,” Jungkook started slowly, clinging tighter. “I fell for you so hard that I’m just losing it all. And that means… I lose my place among the stars.”
“I don’t understand…”
“It’s a rare thing, Jimin—I don’t know how else to explain it. I shed my immortality if I fall for a human. Now I can’t…”
He hesitated, and it only worried Jimin more.
“Can’t what?”
“I don’t have enough power to go back.”
Jimin pulled back to stare at him with disbelief. “What?”
Jungkook pressed his lips into a line and turned away.
“Jungkook, why didn’t you tell me?”
“I didn’t want this to end…”
Jimin cupped his cheeks, forcing him to look at him. “Jungkook… if you can’t go back—”
“I know—”
“—and you regain humanity, then…” Jimin fell silent for a moment, losing himself in thought. “… You care about me that much?” He let their noses touch lightly, to let Jungkook know he was not angry—just worried for his sake.
“Am I worth all of that, Jungkook?”
Jimin sounded guilty. Even though it was true that he was the cause of Jungkook’s humanity, it wasn’t a bad thing. It never was.
“You’re worth the entire universe.”
“But you’re powerless and… and mortal. You had whole galaxies. You had all the stars and planets and everything in between. You had timelessness. Human lives are so short, Jungkook.”
Jungkook dug his fingers into Jimin’s hips. He was sure about loving Jimin; surer than anything. Returning to the stars no longer crossed his mind—it mattered little in comparison.
“I don’t want any of it,” Jungkook whispered insistently, lips grazing Jimin’s, silently pleading with him. “I want you.”
Besides, it was too late. Jungkook already rid himself most of what he was.
Who I used to be.
And reminding himself of this, he belatedly realized one thing.
“I can’t grant your wishes anymore.“
"Huh?”
“If there’s anything you wanted—needed…” He sighed. “I can’t make them come true.”
“Jungkook,” Jimin interrupted tenderly, “they already did. All of them.”
Their gazes caught each other. In them, Jungkook saw the infinity of their love.
He replied with a fervent kiss. Jimin wrapped his arms tight around his shoulders, lifting himself into his embrace.
Despite the weight of ground beneath his feet, growing stronger each day, Jungkook felt feather-light.
Even without his stardust, he felt whole.
“Let’s go, Jungkook-ah.”
Jungkook finished tying his shoes and pushed himself off the stoop. He took one step toward Jimin and toppled forward.
Jimin laughed and caught his broader form, protectively winding his arms around his middle.
“Gravity,” Jimin commented with a bit of a grunt as he helped him straighten himself.
“Yeah,” Jungkook said, a little embarrassed. “Still adjusting to that.”
Jungkook shed the last of his stardust not too long ago. Now he felt the full weight of mortality—the gravity of the Earth he must walk on; the dimness of human skin, cool to touch compared to his former life; the elements of nature, both earthen and human.
Honestly, he couldn’t be any happier.
“I guess you’ll be hanging off of me for a while,” Jimin sighed with feigned annoyance, tucking Jungkook against his side as they wandered onto the sidewalk.
Jungkook just smiled at him fondly and slid his arm over his shoulders.
He couldn’t wait to live, to age. He wanted to mature with Jimin, to stay by his side and discover the world with him. After all, Jungkook wasn’t the only one to feel the world’s newness; Jimin had been ill throughout much of his life, confined to a bed inside a sterile room with no more than a window to see the world. He still had a lot to see.
“Are you ready, my love?” Jimin asked him, placing a kiss on his shoulder.
Jungkook nuzzled his hair, taking a few seconds to savor the tangibility of love, pressing against him and filling his mortal soul.
“Yeah. I’m ready.”
The WALK signal flashed at the two, as if on cue.
Together, they stepped forward and continued to explore their new leases on life.