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For the longest time, Minseok wanted wings. Who doesn’t? They were beautiful, allowed flight, and most importantly, meant you won Worlds. It meant you were good enough.
His dream of feathers takes him to DRX and Deft, still flightless after so many years.
They don’t win, but Worlds and Quarterfinals are just enough for Minseok to get a taste of blue skies and going home feels like falling—like Icarus.
He watches Damwon lift the trophy, watches their wings manifest in a flurry of black, brown, gray, and brief flashes of bright blue and yellow from Beryl and Nuguri and he wants.
“When we win,” he says to Hyukkyu, ignoring the way Hyukkyu smiles at the promise in his words, “what kind of bird do you think you’ll get?”
“I don’t know. No one knows until they manifest.”
Minseok doesn’t respond to that.
Instead, he lies in bed and he dreams. He dreams of raptors, dull feathers with color traded for speed and power; he dreams of passerines and their songs; and he dreams of wings and flight.
It’s supposed to be with Hyukkyu, with Changhyeon and Jihoon and Hyeonjun. But Hyeonjun says he’s leaving for KT and T1 reaches out to Minseok.
He looks to Hyukkyu, and all he says is, “Go chase the sky, Minseokie.”
No one on DRX had wings.
T1 has an abundance.
Daeny and Zefa are still moving carefully, new limbs tucked awkwardly close to their back. Minseok catches sight of Wolf’s long train sweeping behind him in the hallways and Bengi’s pale brown wings beside him, massive even when pulled in. And there’s Faker.
His white-black albatross wings are also closed when Minseok meets him properly for the first time.
T1 is the first time he sees them up close.
T1 is also the first time he realizes that they can be a pain in the ass to deal with.
Minseok blows an errant piece of down away from his keyboard, making a face. “Is it always like this?”
Beside him, Minhyung turns in his chair. He catches the feather in his fingers, waving it a little before shoving it into the one of the plastic bags on the desks that Minseok has now learned are there for this exact purpose. “The molting?” Minseok nods. “It depends. Apparently albatrosses only molt once every other year but it takes the entire year and he just has a lot of feathers.”
Sitting in a corner, wings loose and half open behind him, Faker calls out, “Sorry. Usually I lose the down feathers a lot earlier.”
Minseok eyes the slightly ragged-looking limbs. Minhyung must read his mind because he adds, “Yeah, they usually look a little weird during the molt. But for now, we just have to deal with the feathers.”
Faker lets out a little laugh. “If you think I’m bad, wait until Coach Bengi starts.”
There’s a snort from the doorway and Minseok spins around in time to see the ex-jungler step through the doorway of the practice room. “That won’t be until next year,” he reassures, ruffling all three sets of his wings for a moment. The slight wind the movement kicks up stirs Minseok’s hair. “My season’s only from around July to October. Most are, actually.”
Minseok’s about to ask exactly why he’s here when Bengi pulls up a chair and starts to gently run his hands through Faker’s wings, combing out loose feathers and putting it into a bag he pulls out of his pocket.
Faker doesn’t seem to acknowledge it, besides a quick glance over his shoulder. “Summers are always rough.”
Bengi’s mouth twitches up into a smile. “At least I wasn’t there in 2017. How many sets were there? Fourteen? No, wait, that was an odd year. Eleven, then.”
“Don’t remind me,” Faker responds, shaking his head, turning back to his computer and his popped queue. “Don’t worry, I should stop dropping feathers everywhere soon.”
It takes Minseok a moment to realize Faker’s addressing him and he feels himself flush a little, much to Minhyung’s quiet amusement. “Ah! Right, okay.”
Faker shoots him a smile before refocusing on his game, locking in Orianna. Bengi doesn’t look up from his task of preening Faker’s wings either, and Minseok takes that to mean the end of the conversation.
It’s by sheer luck that Minseok runs into Damwon.
He’s blearily making his way through the halls to pick up a snack when he rounds the corner and nearly walks face first into a wall of feathers.
He manages to stop himself in time with a yelp, backpedaling as hard as he can and when he looks up, he finds himself face to face with kkOma. “Oh, I’m sorry. Are you okay?” The coach looks between him and over his shoulders, past his massive blue-red-yellow wings, and steps to the side. “I didn’t mean to stand in your way.”
“Uh…” is all Minseok says, staring at the crowded hallway.
Damwon, including Nuguri, who Minseok supposes doesn’t really have to leave until he finds a new team, stares back.
Daeny and Zefa are also here, he realizes, along with Faker, Bengi, Wolf, and…is that Bang? LCS’ season is over, so he supposes that the AD carry being in Korea isn’t too out of the ordinary, but…
Minseok shrinks a little under the weight of all their eyes and he thinks he sees Faker’s mouth curl up just a little before flattening back down. “Sorry,” he says quickly, skirting around them against the wall, wings thankfully moving out of his way. “I was just…I’m going to go now.” He steps carefully over Wolf’s long train, the other support conveniently sweeping the iridescent feathers out of the way at the same time.
He practically flees into the dining room, immediately meeting a pair of wide eyes. Zeus, he thinks, if he remembers correctly. What was his name again? Wooje? Beside him, the academy jungler—Hyeonjun—shifts. He hisses, “Why are Damwon here?”
“How would I know?”
“They’re here to use the roof,” Minhyung responds, because he’s always conveniently nearby. He unpeels his banana nonchalantly. It’s not too hard for Minseok to put two and two together but Minhyung interrupts before he can do much more than open his mouth though. “It’s tradition. FPX showed up last year too, and apparently Duke dragged all of IG in after they won in 2018.”
Right on cue, someone shoots across the window in a blur of white and brown, materializing briefly into Bang, who waves, before tucking down into a dive.
There’s the muffled sound of someone yelling, indiscernible through the glass, and when Minseok moves closer to the window, he spots Wolf slowly circling in the sky, the weak winter sunlight catching on his wings and tail.
Even from here, Bang’s grin is visible while he circles his former support, darting back and forth.
“Woah…”
Minseok turns his head to see Wooje pressed up against the glass too, just in time to see someone—Bengi, probably, judging by the six pale brown wings that snap open when he falls past their window—fly up to join them.
“We’re allowed onto the roof too, you know,” Minhyung says casually, tossing his banana peel into a trash can.
“Really?” Both Hyeonjun and Wooje turn to face him, stars practically in their eyes, even if the former tries to hide it.
“Yeah. I’ll show you. You coming? It’s pretty funny, watching them try to fly.” Minseok blinks, then nods slowly.
“Sure.”
Minhyung takes them up the stairs, brushing past a sign that warns No access without supervision past this point. “Supervision just means any Worlds winner who knows how to fly,” Minhyung explains when Minseok gives him a questioning look. “Here.”
It’s easy enough to put the harnesses and Minhyung clips them all in. “Reminds me of rock climbing,” is Hyeonjun’s comment while he plays with the long tether in his hands.
“That was pretty much the idea I think,” Minhyung replies with a shrug. “There’s no railing on the roof and since we can’t slow ourselves down if we fall off the edge, HQ installed this for safety reasons. Just don’t go near the edge, you’ll be fine.”
He swings the door open and Minseok immediately shivers when the wind howls toward him. Behind him, Hyeonjun curses. “It’s cold!”
Even without turning, Minseok can practically feel Wooje's judging look. “Hyung, it’s December. Of course it’s cold.”
Minseok ignores them, huddling into his sweater and squinting in the sudden light. A shadow passes and he looks up in time to see Faker swoop down a little, massive wings fully extended. Minhyung waves up at him, and he waves back before tilting his body and soaring up through a low cloud.
Minseok startles a little when Minhyung leans in his direction, stage whispering, “Don’t let his flight fool you. Albatrosses are terrible at takeoff and landing.”
“Really? I—”
He’s cut off as he watches Showmaker, a concentrated look on his face, dive down, dark brown wings flaring out as he nears an inflated cushion sitting on the center of the roof. But he misjudges his speed and Minseok watches with fascination as he proceeds to faceplant with an indignant squawk.
Ghost, circling above him, shouts something down and Showmaker, tumbling off the edge of the cushion yells back, “It’s not that easy!”
He can hear Wooje and Hyeonjun trying not to burst into laughter behind him. “…I see what you mean.” He eyes the cushion in time for Canyon to follow his midlaner and crash into it as well. He sinks into the center, enough that all Minseok can see of him is an awkward ball of gray feathers.
Damwon continues to show up for the next week, all of them entering and leaving in various levels of grumpiness and Minseok nearly chokes on his rice when Wooje makes a joke about Showmaker and Canadian geese.
And seemingly uncaring of the way Minseok is literally dying, he continues, “Do you think they make bird noises?”
“Wooje,” Minseok wheezes, coughing as Minhyung rubs his back concernedly, “stop, please.”
“I’m just saying!”
“Of course they don’t,” Hyeonjun says confidently, crossing his arms. “That’s stupid.”
Minhyung raises an eyebrow. “And how would you know? Want to make a bet?”
Minseok’s still coughing too hard to stop Hyeonjun from agreeing immediately. “Alright, bet.”
“Hyung, do the thing.”
Minseok turns away from the noisy chaos in the dining room at Faker’s voice. Maybe getting almost everyone in T1 HQ into one place was a bad idea.
“There has to be another way of getting their attention though,” Bengi says, wincing.
“This is faster,” Faker replies, and he leans in, bumping his wings against Bengi’s. “Please?”
Bengi sighs, wings drooping a little, primaries brushing the floor. “Fine.” He catches Minseok’s eyes and, before Minseok can quickly look away, says, “You should probably cover your ears.”
Hesitantly, he obeys, watching as Bengi uncrosses his arms and inhales.
Even with the preparation, Minseok jumps as a shriek he honestly didn't even think was humanly possible to make leaves Bengi’s mouth.
The noise immediately cuts out and Minseok sees Hyeonjun topple off his chair with a “Shit the fuck!” that rings out through the now silent room. He flushes immediately, but luckily for him, everyone else is too preoccupied with staring at Bengi.
“Thanks,” Faker chirps, seemingly unaffected by the unholy sound that just came out of his former jungler.
Bengi sighs, covering his face with a hand.
Later, because Wooje and Hyeonjun must have seen him already prepared for it, Minseok finds himself cornered.
Hyeonjun immediately demands, “What the fuck was that?”
“How would I—Minhyung!” Minseok yanks the AD carry inside the room, ignoring his yelp of surprise. “What was that?”
“What was…what?”
“Earlier, Coach Bengi made this really loud screeching sound,” Wooje pipes up helpfully.
Minhyung blinks, and suddenly grins. “Did it sound like this?” He pulls out his phone, tapping on the screen and Minseok can’t help but flinch when a near identical sound blares from the speakers.
“Yes!” Hyeonjun points accusingly at the phone. “That!”
“Then that is me winning the bet,” Minhyung says proudly, “because Worlds winners do sometimes make bird noises.”
Wooje elbows Hyeonjun. “See? I told you.”
Minseok waves his hands as if he could physically chase away the sound of the top-jungle duo starting to bicker again. “Wait, wait, wait, so you’re saying that all of them can make noises?”
Minhyung nods. “Never heard Sanghyeok-hyung say anything, but there are a few clips online of other Worlds winners. Also,” he adds, still smirking, “if you talk to Bang or Wolf or kkOma, they’ll probably gladly tell you about it.”
“Huh,” Minseok says.
“Hyung, you lived with Samsung White, right?”
A heavy sigh crackles through his phone speaker. “Unfortunately,” Hyukkyu says dryly. “Why do you ask?”
“Is it true that Worlds winners don’t just get wings?” Minseok chews on his bottom lip idly as he waits for a response.
After a beat, Hyukkyu sighs again. “Was it Damwon? Or did Bang tell you? Or—Bengi’s back on T1, right? Did someone ask him to do the screech thing?”
Minseok recoils at that, grabbing his phone and lifting it up to his mouth. “How did you know?”
A third sigh. “He’s really loud if he wants to be,” comes the grumble. “But to answer your other question, yes. They do. And they can be incredibly loud. Be thankful that everyone over there whose bird is loud are quiet people.” Minseok can practically see Hyukkyu’s eyes hollow out as he recalls his old Samsung days. “Pair a talkative person with a parrot and you will never get a moment of rest again.”
“Oh. Well, I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks hyung.”
T1 don’t make it to MSI, not when GenG knocks them out of the semifinals in the Regionals with a 3-0, so there isn’t much to do two months between the Spring and Summer seasons.
He could watch MSI, but he gets a bit of a sour taste in his mouth whenever he checks the stream and spots the LCK’s single representative this year. It’s not too surprising that it’s Damwon again, not with their 16-2 regular season and their double 3-0s in Regionals.
Somehow, seeing Poohmandu’s soft ashy brown and kkOma’s bright blue-yellow-red on that empty stage feels a little bit like a betrayal. They’d won all of their wings on SKT, after all.
He also looks at the roster and he sees Khan, the only wingless one, and he wonders how that feels. Minseok knows he would hate it.
The more he watches, the more he starts to think and wonder, and the more he starts to imagine—for all people praise him to be a monster support, talented players never getting a trophy aren’t a rare story. Smeb, Khan, Madlife, Uzi, even Deft, and he could go on.
He closes the tab with a sigh, chair rolling back easily when he pushes against the table, and he stands.
Even away from his PC and MSI and Damwon, the names of wingless legends keep circling his head.
It’s Minhyung, kneeling behind Faker on the floor, who breaks him out of it. “Hey.”
“Hm?” He has to catch himself before he accidentally walks into the doorframe. It mostly works, his hand coming up fast enough that he bonks his head on his fingers instead of the plaster, but inside the room, Faker laughs quietly.
“Careful,” he says, running his hands through his feathers. His wings are splayed out behind him, nearly stretched all the way out and practically brushing the edges of the room. Minseok finds himself a little breathless with how big they are. He must notice the way Minseok stares because he then offers, “Want to help?”
When he hesitates, mostly out of a sense of should I really be allowed to touch your wings, Minhyung leans back and groans. “Isn’t there anyone else that can help you? My back hurts.” His tone is teasing, light, and Faker huffs a little, the sound halfway between a sigh and a laugh.
“Wolf is streaming, Bang is over at Afreeca, Bengi has scrims with the Challenger team, and everyone else is at home,” he says, shrugging. “You’re good at this though.” Faker drops the wing he’d been working on and Minhyung brightens a little, even as he turns to Minseok, half pleading. This time, he takes the invitation.
Cautiously stepping into the room, he asks, “So, uh. How…do I help?”
Maybe it’s a little counterintuitive, helping Minhyung preen Faker’s wings when wings were part of the reason for his terrible mood, but the motion is repetitive, the feathers are soft, and it’s actually somewhat relaxing.
It almost becomes routine, and Faker never complains when Minseok, bored or tilted from solo queue, sits down behind him in his special chair specifically designed to have room for the massive appendages.
He usually doesn’t find himself alone for too long.
Sometimes it’s just Minhyung, sitting beside him close enough that their knees almost brush, sometimes it’s Jinseong or Changdong or even Bengi.
Minseok would like to think that he’s gotten fairly good at it. But by the time the end of summer rolls around, he’s starting to regret it.
Faker just laughs a little. “I told you it was going to be bad.” He waves the peacock feather he must have stolen from Wolf in the air.
Wolf, conveniently passing by, snatches it out of Faker’s hand with a grumble.
Interestingly, despite how many feathers are dropped on a yearly basis, Minseok doesn’t actually see much of them after they’ve been swept away. He knows some of the others have feathers gifted to them—he has one too, the long black and white feather sitting on his night stand—but he doesn’t see them out in public often.
Even Wooje, who’d been positively ecstatic when Faker offered a dropped primary to him, kept it hidden away in his room.
Really, the only time he sees them outside is, surprisingly, on Jeesun during game days.
If there aren’t soft white feathers hanging from her earrings, then there’s a small hair clip she wears above an ear, dark gray-brown feathers that have to have been cut for decorative purposes sweeping across her hair.
Or maybe it’s not so surprising, not when Minseok sees her walking side by side with Bang backstage sometimes, something light and happy in their eyes, fingers intertwined.
It makes him wonder a little, and it’s because of this that he starts to pay attention whenever he spots lone feathers outside.
He sees Blank talking to Peanut one day and the latter walks away with a single black feather in his hands, Wolf’s easily identifiable iridescent green flashing when the fabric shifts as he tucks it away in the pocket of his Nongshim jacket. He tunes into an FPX game one day and sure enough, if he looks hard enough, he can spot slivers of gray and brown in Nuguri’s player cam, and when he looks up an old Immortals game, there are the faintest wisps of feathers dangling from Crown’s earring.
Minseok can put things together easily enough. He tucks the information, and his own gifted feather from Faker, away secretly.
This Worlds, Minseok makes it a little farther and a 3-2 in the Semifinals is better than 3-0 in Quarterfinals, but he goes home anyway, still flightless.
A little selfishly, he hopes that Damwon doesn’t win, even if the other option is EDG.
He asks Faker cautiously who he’s supporting and Faker only shrugs, face mysteriously blank. In hindsight, the quick smile that had flashed over Bengi’s face when the coach had passed by and overheard should have been a clue.
But he gets his answer regardless when EDG, instead of flying back to China—in a plane, probably—shows up at T1’s doorstep.
Minseok’s pretty sure that he wasn’t meant to see the way Faker had smiled and said “Congrats, Yechan-ah,” or and the way he had nudged Scout’s soft gray wings, nearly overbalancing the other midlaner.
“Thanks,” Scout had replied quietly, a matching smile of pride on his face.
When they head up to the roof, Minseok doesn’t bother following. He gets more than enough updates from Hyeonjun and Wooje anyway.
The ten-man roster dissolves, Wooje officially moves up to the main roster, and Bengi changes over from the Challenger team.
2022 is…for the most part, it’s a good year.
They don’t really win as much as Minseok would like, but a trophy is a trophy and it’s better than none, so he’ll take it. And besides, second seed to Worlds isn’t too shabby, in his opinion.
Then, in the blink of an eye, it’s Finals and across the stage, face carefully blank, is Deft.
Go chase the sky.
One of them is falling tonight, with a burnt dream of feathers and the feeling of the ground beneath their feet.
Minseok’s falling, gravity tugging so hard at his bones that he folds down into his chair, bowing over.
He gets a glimpse of Deft’s wings when they manifest—blue, just like the DRX logo, just like the lights above and scattered amongst the roaring crowd, just like the Victory screen that must still be on their screens.
Then there are soft white feathers sweeping across his vision, blocking out the swiveling blue lights and the golden sparks, and Minseok can’t really see through the blurry film over his eyes, but Bengi’s hands are warm, grounding, when he puts them on Minseok’s shoulders.
He lets himself be guided away from his PC, down the stairs, and backstage, away from the crowds and cameras all while those wings remain tented around him like a shield.
Bengi sets him down in a chair, but he doesn’t back away. His wings remain up, even as he kneels down before Minseok. He doesn’t say anything, just waits, until Minseok’s breathing stops pushing its way out of his chest in ragged sobs and he can find the strength straighten out of the ball he’d crumpled into.
Minseok blindly reaches forward—almost like a child, his mind unhelpfully supplies, a child crying after an impossible dream of flight shattered upon waking—and if it hurts Bengi when Minseok curls his hands into those feathers, he doesn’t make any indication of it.
For the rest of their short stay in America, Minseok can’t stand the look of Sanghyeok and Bengi’s wings. A fourth pair probably wouldn’t matter too much for them, not when they could already fly.
But Minseok? Minseok, who’d just tried to fly and had found himself crashing down from the sky because it turned out his wings were nothing more than metal and wax?
He’s going to go home with nothing but dirt under his fingernails and stones ground into his skin.
Sanghyeok and Bengi probably notice. It’s not as if hiding in his hotel room and firmly ignoring their texts or the knocks at his door were subtle.
Almost all of DRX have black and white wings—not surprising, given how most birds were dressed in neutral shades, but now, every time he sees those albatross or owl feathers, the pit in his stomach tears itself open further.
It ends up being Wooje, out of everyone, who reaches him. Granted, he practically kicks down Minseok’s door after threatening to jump from his balcony to Minseok’s, but still.
“What,” Minseok says flatly.
“You look terrible,” Wooje says, before promptly inviting himself into Minseok’s room, sitting down on his bed and crossing his legs. “You’re already packed?”
Minseok’s suitcases sit by the door, closed and neat, and he shrugs. “I look fine,” he replies, idly glancing at his phone and the unread texts before clicking it shut. “What do you want?”
“I don’t know. The others are worried about you though.”
“Yeah, well, I just needed time to think. When’s our flight?”
Wooje checks his phone. “Six hours. You sure though?” Minseok rolls his eyes. “Is this about the wings?”
Minseok glares. “What are you talking about?” Wooje doesn’t blink, just runs a hand through his hair. And when he doesn’t respond either, Minseok heaves a sigh. “No,” he grumbles, “it’s not.”
Wooje keeps staring at him, surprisingly judgemental for someone who Minseok had also seen disappear into a ball of soft gray-brown feathers just a while ago, and okay, fine, Minseok is a terrible liar, but that’s not the point.
He sighs again. “Are you going to do anything, or are you just going to keep looking at me like that?”
He gets a one-sided shrug for that as Wooje slides his phone out of his pocket. “Are you going to stop sulking in your room?” He glances up and quickly backtracks upon seeing the expression on Minseok’s face. “Hyeonjun-hyung said that, not me,” he quickly tacks on, and Minseok has to bite back a third sigh.
“Fine. Now get out or help me.”
He gets over it eventually, tucks the shiny gray-blue feather Hyukkyu hands him and the white-black one Changhyeon shoves into his hands as well into his box, carefully nestling them on top of the rest.
“They never tell you how heavy these things are,” Hyukkyu grumbles as he lies flat on his stomach, DK jacket draped over his legs and his heron wings flopping off the side and back of the couch. Minseok can hear Changhyeon, probably, screaming, even through the thick glass of the windows, and he glances up just in time to watch Kingen hurtle by.
He snorts, biting back a plethora of maybe too sharp jokes about winning worlds. “You’ll be okay,” is what he settles for eventually, carding his fingers through the ruffled feathers, all out of place from the winter wind and from the repeated crash landings.
For once, it’s really just Minseok here. Hyeonjun, Minhyung, and Wooje had all re-signed, but they’d all, probably unsurprisingly, decided to stay home when they’d been informed that the first flights would be today.
Hyukkyu groans, sound muffled by the couch cushions, and Minseok turns his attention back, but he doesn’t say anything, just lets Minseok carefully preen his wings, his eyes closed.
Minseok might have thought that losing Worlds once, especially that close, would have numbed him to the pain of losing, but no. He watches GenG raise the Spring trophy, then watches JDG win MSI, and it feels like burning asphalt, friction wounds from being flung down out of the sky, raw nerves spilling down out of his back while reaching for bones and muscles and tendons that never got to fully form.
It's not just him that feels it, he knows. No, he can tell in the way Minhyung’s eyes always flicker, stormy, before he looks away, arms crossed; in the way Hyeonjun never sticks around to watch the trophy be raised; in the way Wooje gets quiet, still.
The summer is…bad. The summer’s always bad, but this one feels off.
Sanghyeok backs down from the main lineup. They call Poby up. And before Minseok can really ask Bengi for—something, he thinks, but whatever it is, he forgets it because Bengi startles, whirling before Minseok can touch him. His wings press tighter to his back, the clear opposite of what they’d been not even a year prior, and Bengi mutters something like an apology.
He’s gone before Minseok can properly say goodbye.
They claw their way to Worlds, they claw their way past Team Liquid, past C9 and BLG.
Hyukkyu leaves another feather in his hands, jacket folded away and out of sight and Minseok immediately knows that he’s not staying on DK. “Go chase the sky,” he says, eyes curving into a smile.
“I will,” Minseok swears, taking the feather. He’ll rebuild those wings of wax himself, if he has to.
They blow past the quarterfinals, and he pretends not to see the soft gray feather Sanghyeok tucks into his jacket pocket when they walk away from the final fistbumps with LNG.
It’s almost ironic that it’s JDG they face—that it’s Ruler. Sanghyeok’s rebuilding his wings too, Minseok thinks. After all, what was the difference between a feather lost and a feather taken, in the very end? The sun wouldn’t care, neither would the ocean. All that would matter is if they flew.
And oh, they fly.
He spends…a long time just staring at the trophy. Just staring, lightly and idly running his nail across the vanes of the gifted feather in his hand—a primary, because Hyukkyu hated to do things halfway, just like Minseok. There’s no hiding it, not with how massive it is, but his teammates ignore it, just as they ignore the soft brown feather Sanghyeok plays with when he thinks no one’s watching.
No one asks what bird the others are hoping for, if their choice has changed at all from the year before. No, they all stare up at the screen and the silver trophy and flashing lights, and they imagine it an open sky.
“Let’s play our best,” is all Sanghyeok says in the end, as they’re ushered into place.
Minseok feels like laughing, but he keeps it in, the feeling buoyant in his lungs. Let’s chase the sky.