Chapter Text
Sadalsuud
Here's a cliché, Taehyung thinks wryly, the famed red string of fate. The indestructible line of crimson tied like a shoelace on the left ring finger, extends to somewhere you can't see the end of. You can't see where it leads or sometimes you do.
Taehyung thinks how boring to see your string connected to your neighbor, but really, he's just annoyed that whoever has the end of their string that close doesn't have to search far for their soulmate. Some people's soulmates might be in the next city, some extending to another country on the opposite end of the world. See, now that's challenging. Taehyung thinks they have to go above and beyond just to meet the person at the end of the string. Exciting really. Something to write a book about, star-crossed or whatever.
Taehyung has to scoff into his cereal bowl. He's bitter. He knows. He hates this damned soulmate string and hates everyone who gets to follow their lines and find happiness at the end of it. He hates that it's absolute, hates that there have not been any instances that could even resemble his circumstance.
Yes, there are non-conventional soulmates, people whose strings are tied together with more than one person. There are also platonic ones, parent-child, siblings, and even guardians and their wards, but there has never been any instances where a person has no string attached to them.
Everyone is born with a red string tied around their ring finger.
Taehyung included.
But he scowls at his string every once in a while.
Cries at it, screams at it, pleads with it, looks longingly at it—and since it cannot be cut nor destroyed, he tries to unravel the knot too.
Of course it doesn't budge. It wraps around his finger, a mock of a ring, extending out of their house, across the road, into the rice fields, and up into the sky, shooting up to the stars towards what he has now learned and memorized as Beta Aquarii—Sadalsuud, the luck of lucks—the brightest star in Earth’s syzygy with the sun and Aquarius.
Lucky (unfortunate), how his soulmate might be a literal sun.
Well, fuck that. He might say he is bitter but he won’t deny that he wants something easy too. To just wake up one day, ride a bike to the market, marvel at how his string is shortening until he follows it to the other end right behind the peach vendor’s stand, where it’s tied to the ring finger of his soulmate. Peaches. Easy as fucking peaches.
He wishes it’s that easy.
But it’s not. So he’s left wondering and hoping that whatever planet his string ends up in, he hopes his soulmate, whatever they are, has a variation of peaches on their planet.
xxx
All those thoughts of peaches had him craving some. The white peach variety, ttak-bok, pastel pink and crunchy. He’s going to make pie he thinks, or maybe peach wine, or he could cut some up and dip in some chocolate sauce.
The basket in front of his bike is heavy with a kilo or two of the fruit. He’s trying not to jostle the peaches too much, each bump on the dirt road back to his farmhouse threatens to send the fruit flying off the basket. It's when he clears the foliage of trees by the side of the road that he spots the plume of black smoke coming from the direction of his land.
There’s a fleeting thought—did I leave the stove on—before he’s pedalling at full speed towards home. The peaches bounce out of the basket, but he doesn’t spare them any thought as he rushes to put out the fire that he fears has engulfed his house, or worse, the ricefield.
As he nears his compound, the place where the fire is raging becomes more apparent. Taehyung wants to sigh in relief when he finds it’s not the house that’s ablaze, but the air gets stuck in his throat when he bikes right into the edge of the field to jump off his cycle and run through the embankment. Using the smoke to pinpoint the exact location of the fire, he arrives from the road, almost a hundred meters from the house, to a burning vehicle.
An electric vehicle? Who the hell owns that in bumfuck Geochang? Taehyung thinks rather curiously, but the make and model of it is something he’s never seen on advertisements, so he isn’t sure about that either. It’s slick, minimal, and a pearlescent white, shaped like an aircraft of some kind with a rounded hood, a spherical body, and a long tail tapering off to what looks like two exhausts. The odd thing about it is that it has no wheels.
The strange out of place aesthetic Taehyung thinks it has, is quickly swept away by the smoke that’s coming out of the aircraft’s spherical body. It must be an aircraft, crashed from a flight, because it doesn’t seem likely that a car would be coming here and crashing. The windows, or what looked to be windows, slides open from the top, letting out more smoke to rise to the skies.
Taehyung realizes there must be a pilot inside, and rushes towards it, through the heavy smoke stinging his eyes, he climbs over the hood and quickly reaches between the opening of the window to blindly check for a person. His hands slam into a console, buttons clicking under his fingers so he reaches in deeper and grasps someone. The smoke is so thick and dark that he can barely see if the pilot is still alive, but he holds onto them. With all his strength he heaves, and the person comes away from his seat.
Taehyung hauls the pilot onto his shoulder before carefully coming back to the ground. He gently places the pilot a few meters away from the aircraft and rushes to his truck with the water tanks. He uses those tanks to manually water the little plot of field he has for his sunflowers, but it seems he’ll be using it to put out a fire today. Good thing he always has water stocked up in those tanks. Running back to his house for the keys and back out to the shed, he retrieves the truck and rushes it towards the fire.
It’s big and heavy, slower than his grandmother, and it’s halfway back in the fields that Taehyung notices that the smoke has stopped and disappeared. When he reaches the aircraft, he finds that the pilot is standing with their back to him, a hand pressed on the body of the aircraft and speaking commands into it. The place where the pilot’s hand touches the surface of the body is glowing a pale white light and a circuit-like array extends from it.
The aircraft is now free of fire it seems because the window is shut, the body and cockpit are tainted with black soot and remnants of the fire.
Taehyung exits his truck and stands there amazed at the extinguishing capabilities of the vehicle. He watches as the pilot coughs in between commands, the sophisticated array arranging and rearranging around his hand, it must be an interface that the pilot can communicate with because it seems to be replying everytime the pilot speaks.
The pilot must have woken up when Taehyung pulled him out of the cockpit, and then proceeded to engage the extinguishing mechanisms of their aircraft. They must be running diagnostics. Taehyung doesn’t really know anything about flying planes or how they work but he’s watched enough Star Trek to guess that there must be a protocol at work here.
He decides to approach the pilot, check if they’re okay, and maybe ask about how they got in this situation, when the aircraft gives off a subtle spread of white light from the pilot’s hand and then it just... disappears.
Disappears, as in, going completely invisible.
Taehyung gasps in shock, the sound alerts the pilot who bodily turns to him in surprise as well. Taehyung’s gaze connects with the pilot, a man with purple eyes and short cropped silver hair. He sees the man’s eyes narrow at him warily before rolling to the back of his head and then dropping unconscious on the ground. Taehyung is quick to get on his knees to assess the man.
The pilot is alarmingly orange. He must have been unconscious in the fire for too long before Taehyung pulled him out. He is not sure if the man is breathing at all, his chest does not rise or fall, but there is a gentle and drawn out puff of air from his nose when Taehyung checks. There is no thump in his chest for a heartbeat as well. He checks the pulse on the man’s thin wrists to see if he still has a pulse.
It is not easy to find the vein on such a delicate wrist, Taehyung is afraid he’ll crush the bones in between his fingertips when he presses too hard, but just a little below the usual spot, a little to the inside of the arm, Taehyung’s fingers find the swell of a vein.
He holds his breath, waiting for the tell tale thump.
It comes in a swoosh, slow but there, and Taehyung has to sigh in relief. He finds a steady rhythm under his fingertips, and so, moves to pinch the pilot’s pinky finger just to see a knee-jerk reaction. What he finds instead, right after the pulse, is his red string at its shortest in all twenty-eight years of his life, shining a very obvious red and ending up tied to the pilot’s own ring finger.
It must have been the fire, or the pilot himself, or the damn peaches for all he knows, but Taehyung did not know how he missed something as blatant and glaring as this.
Since when did suns crash into earth?
xxx
Arriving at the front porch of his farmhouse, Taehyung stares at the single peach in the basket that made it after his bumpy and hurried journey home. He contemplates whether to go back down the road and fetch the ones that bounced off his bike basket. He doesn’t feel like making the ride back to town for another bag of the fruit, but he also doesn’t think he should drop the unconscious space man on his back.
Despite the years of manual labor he’s done tending to his farm, he’s wheezing and sweating like crazy carrying the pilot back to his home. He decides that the peaches are a lost cause now, and trudges inside the house, quickly thinking against taking the space man up the stairs into the spare bedroom, he’s already dying trying to keep them both upright. So, he pauses by the couch, easing the pilot onto it as gently as he can despite his weight.
The adrenalin must have kicked in earlier because the pilot wasn’t this heavy when he hauled him from the vehicle. The guy regardless of his slim and lean physique, feels like he weighs thrice as much as Taehyung. He reasons that it must be the man’s firesuit and huffs when he finally arranged the dense unconscious pilot on the couch.
Taehyung sits on the floor, staring at the man as he tries to regain his breath.
Although he does not seem to have suffered burns, the peach-orange tint to his skin has not subsided at all. The apples of his cheeks are a darker peach color, the same with his lips—Taehyung begrudgingly admits this is creepy of him to notice—which are heart shaped, and with a little red mole on the top bow. He has to shake his head so he doesn’t stare at this man in his moment of vulnerability, some government body might have a clause for unconscious pilots that might land Taehyung in prison.
So he. . . stares—respectfully—at the man’s short silver hair and then down to the tips of his ear that are a lovely shade of peach, tapering upwards like a cat’s ear and pointing up quite pompously.
“What the fuck?” Taehyung breathes as he crawls closer to the pilot to confirm that he has, indeed, pointed alien ears.
There’s no fucking way there’s a Vulcan on my couch.
“Is this guy even real?” Taehyung gasps, poking the pilot’s face and confirming that he is real and alive.
Peach-orange skin, silver hair, and those damned ears! Taehyung goes ahead and pokes the guy again, but this time, his finger is blocked by the pilot’s palm, and Taehyung comes eye to eye with purple irises. Huh, there’s that too.
Before Taehyung can process this unusual coloring, the pilot shoves him away with surprising strength and Taehyung flies back, his back hitting the bookshelf behind him. He lets out a groan of surprise and pain, leaning back on the wall to look up at the pilot who stands from the couch to stare at him warily.
Taehyung has to apologize, he didn’t mean to have the restraint of a curious toddler.
“Hey, sorry bro! I totally deserved that,” Taehyung says with a cough. “I saved you from the burning car or ship or whatever high tech vehicle that was, and brought you here to my house.”
Which sounds like something a serial killer would say so Taehyung cringes and changes tactics.
“Should I call 112? Or should I take you to the hospital? Which is the first thing I should have done,” he mutters the last part to himself after the realization that the pilot must be injured after a crash like that.
Maybe Taehyung needs to go to the hospital too. His back hit the bookshelf first and now it kinda aches. How the hell is this guy so strong? Taehyung huffs, pushing onto his feet to communicate with the pilot better.
“I’m Taehyung, what’s your name?” Taehyung asks, coming closer slowly but the pilot shouts at him stopping his approach.
“I’m sorry? Could you repeat that?” Taehyung asks, scratching the back of his head.
“!am ijo iakkag oed!” The pilot shouts, standing as if any movement from Taehyung would spook him and send him running to the hills.
“What? I—I don’t—Do you speak English?” Taehyung tries. “English?”
“!a-hnajsseah ogallam ijo iakkag!” The pilot shouts, and Taehyung is even more befuddled but he tries his best at communicating.
“Uhm, Japanese?” Taehyung says, raising his hands to show that he isn’t being a threat so the pilot would stop screaming at him.
“amijah,” the pilot’s volume lowers but his tone is still tight with warning.
“Chinese? Shit, I don’t even speak Chinese. Uhm, let’s try Papago,” Taehyung says, reaching for his phone in his jeans pocket.
“!aduhcmoem!” The pilot screams, backing away in panic. His leg catches the couch’s armrest, throwing him off balance and sending him careening towards the old bookshelf where Taehyung’s science books and paraphernalia are stored. The shelf wobbles dangerously when the pilot crashes into it, the 3D model of the solar system at the top shelf tips forward and teeters on the edge.
Taehyung sees it all happen in slow motion but his body is already responding. Diving for the pilot to shield him from the old orrery he inherited from his grandfather, Taehyung braces himself against the shelf, over the frightened man.
It’s only a whirlwind before the dust and everything else settles. Taehyung hisses, scrunching his eyes as he lets the pain bloom and linger. The orrery is off to his side on the floor, still intact despite its fall and age. He is sure he’s already sporting a bump at the back of his head where the model fell on him. Sighing, he opens his eyes to check if the pilot is alright.
Beneath him is a face so close and suddenly vivid. A pair of eyes, impossibly delicate and purple, stare back at him in shock.
“Peaches,” Taehyung mutters and the pilot just stares at him, stunned and probably confused judging by the dip of his white brows. Taehyung leans back on his haunches, still looking at the pilots eyes with awe and wonder. “Sanguine peaches. Your eyes are the color of sanguine peaches.”
The pilot only blinks at him, tilting his head to the side and looking down at the orrery. He says something unintelligible and reaches for the model.
“adinbuesssi ogla ijnuenssi eidoe i-nisaj nue-nisgnad,” he adds, observing the orrery in his hands. “ni-goejgoeyleam.”
“What?” Taehyung whispers as he shakes himself from the pilot’s hypnotic gaze.
But the pilot doesn’t answer nor speak again. He simply points at Taehyung with all five fingers, and then points at the orrery. Taehyung doesn’t quite understand what he meant with that so he shifts forward a little, shaking his head.
“Uhm, huh?” he says with all the confusion he’s feeling rolled into the smartest words he could pull at the moment.
The pilot points at him again, slowly this time, and then at the orrery once more, but Taehyung, for all the awards he got in school, still does not comprehend. The pilot’s lips purses, and pushes forward, closer to Taehyung now, as he gently places his palm on Taehyung’s chest. He taps twice and tilts his head as if in question.
“oye-owm i-mueli.”
Taehyung really should’ve grabbed his phone and turned to Papago a while ago, because he wonders what foreign language the pilot must be speaking at what he’s trying to convey.
“I… I’m sorry, I really dont,” Taehyung answers helplessly.
The pilot pulls his hand away then. His red-purple eyes sparkling with determination. He puts hand on his own chest, tapping himself.
“Hobi.” He says. “Ho-bi.”
It’s when the pilot places his hand back on Taehyung’s chest that he finally understands what the pilot was trying to tell him.
“Taehyung,” he answers back. “Tae-h-yung.”
The pilot nods slowly, finally satisfied. He pulls his hand away from Taehyung and Taehyung’s eyes dart down to the string tied around his ring finger.
This person is his sou—
“Teyonh,” the pilot repeats, taking Taehyung by surprise and delight.
Taehyung enunciates his name clearer to correct him.
“Tae-hyung.”
“Te-yung.”
“Almost there. Tae-hyung.”
“Tae-hyung. Taehyung.”
“Yes, that’s right!” Taehyung cheers enthusiastically. Feeling elated that him and the pilot are finally on the same page since meeting each other. “You can also call me Taehyungie if you want!”
“Taehyung… ie?” The pilot repeats uncertainly so Taehyung echoes him again.
“Taehyungie.”
“Taehyungie,” the pilot says confidently now. “oe-luedmih oglig.”
Taehyung completely ignores what he did not understand and focuses on the way the pilot calls him.
“And you?” He asks, slowly putting his hand on the pilot’s chest to mimic him asking for his name.
The pilot understand far quicker than Taehyung apparently, because he gives a nod and speaks his name.
“Ho-bi.”
“Hobi?”
“Hobi.”
Taehyung grins at that. “Hobi!” he says with enthusiasm that must be infectious because the pilot—Hobi—cracks a smile that’s slightly a giggle. “Okay, Hobi, nice to meet you!”
“oyoe-ssegayoeyluedmuesslaam,” Hobi says, picking up the orrery again and pointing at Taehyung. “Taehyungie,” he says, lightly taps Taehyung’s chest again, and then points at the third planet from the sun.
“Earth?” Taehyung mutters in confusion.
Hobi does the actions again, pointing at Taehyung, saying his name, and then at the third planet. It’s clear now what Hobi asks.
“Earth,” Taehyung answers, clear and straightforward. “Although, I don’t know why you’re asking that, everybody must learn that in elementary.”
“Urt?” Hobi enunciates.
Taehyung helps him out. “Ear-th.”
“Ur-th,” Hobi syllabicates.
“Uh, well, close enough I guess. Earth.”
“Urth? Erth. Earth. Earth?” Hobi looks at him for confirmation and Taehyung is slightly proud that he’s learning fast for someone who’s not familiar with the language.
“Yeah! You got it!”
Hobi gives another nod and points at Taehyung and then Earth. “Taehyungie. Earth,” he pauses and points at himself. “Hobi.”
“Okay. Yes. Taehyungie, Earth, and you, Hobi,” Taehyung follows along.
Hobi does it once more, saying each name with purpose, up until he points to the ceiling and speaks. “Holcan.”
“Hulkan? What is a Hulkcan?”
“Hol-can.” Hobi says patiently. “Taehyungie, Earth. Hobi, Hulcan.”
“Hulcan? Okay, you’re from Hulcan? Is that right? What, is that a country?” Taehyung talks his thoughts aloud, trying to make sense of it all. “Taehyungie, Earth. Hobi, Hulcan.”
“Hobi, Hulcan. Taehyungie, Earth,” Hobi confirms, nodding his head excitedly now because he sees Taehyung getting closer to what he means to say.
Taehyung oddly has to unlock his knowledge about space with this one, he doesn’t know why, but he feels like he’s one step closer to communicating better with Hobi with this. He stares at the orrery and then at Hobi, and then back on the orrery again.
“Taehyung, Earth. Hobi, Hulcan,” he mutters to himself, switching between the orrery and Hobi, the pilot who crashed in his field with his—spaceship…
Oh my god.
Taehyung jumps in his skin at the realization that Hobi—in what must be the most probable but craziest maybe-truths out there—is, in all his honest-to-scifi glory, an alien.
Not to mention the absolute insanity of having a non-terran soulmate.
Indeed, his yearning for peaches had never been easy.