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The first thing Hyunjin thinks when he wakes up is: Heaven is boring.
It’s cramped and the decor is awful. And despite being dead, his body is still on fire. Every time he breathes, his bones ache. His head throbs at the light, like a hammer to the side of his skull.
Negative ten out of ten, Hyunjin thinks. He’s not recommending this place to anyone, especially Jeongin.
Hyunjin groans, and tries to sit up.
He can’t—there’s an angel holding him down gently. His hands are cool, and he’s holding a damp towel to Hyunjin’s forehead.
On second thought, Heaven isn’t boring, Hyunjin thinks. Not if angels are keeping him company. He didn’t even believe it existed, but he totally gets it now.
The angel’s face is slightly flushed, smiling shyly.
Did he say that out loud?
“Yes you did, Captain Hwang,” the angel answers with a slight smile and holy mother of God that voice is sinful. If Hyunjin knew all angels sounded like him and had accents like him, Hyunjin would’ve gone to church every single damn day.
He would’ve gotten onto his knees and begged if it meant he could see the angel. The priests would recognize him by his footsteps before they recognized his face.
Self-preservation be damned, Hyunjin would endure it. He would say “Father, forgive me for I have sinned” a thousand times over if it means the angel could hear his devotion.
The angel laughs then, and it’s music to his ears. Why didn’t they put this part in the Bible? Hyunjin would’ve become a preacher instead of a pilot if he knew. It’s unfair that he only knows now, after he’s died.
Maybe that’s why they say good souls go to Heaven. This is certainly a wonderful Heaven. He envies those who lived their whole lives without seeing the beauty of an angel.
“You never told me how much of a sweet-talker he is,” the angel giggles, looking off to Hyunjin’s side. Who is he talking to? God?
“I’m flattered, Hyunjinnie. But I’m not God.”
With difficulty and fire running through his body, Hyunjin turns his head. Yeah no, that’s not God. God shouldn’t be average height, or look so old. That’s Chan.
“So you’re an angel but I’m an old man?”
“Maybe we should let him rest,” the angel stands, mirth evident in his voice.
Hyunjin wants to reach out, to hold his wrist and put him on acrylic paints. He wants the angel to stay, but his arms aren’t listening and his eyelids are heavy.
“Get some more rest, Captain Hwang,” the angel says, giving him a small smile. “We’ll talk later, when your fever passes.”
Later, Hyunjin thinks. He’s going to see the angel again.
The first time Hyunjin hears his voice, he’s hunched over a paper bag. His head swims from the nausea, his nostrils burn, and he feels thoroughly humiliated, even as Chan gives him reassuring pats on his back.
“Is he alright?” A voice asks in English, accented the same way that Chan’s is.
It’s been months since he last vomited like this. He has no idea why it happened again now, of all days.
“Probably the fever leftover,” Chan answers for him, pushing the looser strands of his hair back.
There’s a light chuckle, and then an extra hand patting his back. “Welcome back to Houston, Captain Hwang.”
Hyunjin answers in the form of another heave, regurgitating his guts out. He can’t really breathe, and his stomach hurts from all the hurling.
Chan makes a sympathetic sound, and another person’s fingers replace his. They’re cooler, and Hyunjin almost sighs at the touch. He knows his hair is sweaty, and this far away from home, the kindness is almost enough to make him cry.
“Go clean up, Chris. I’ll take care of him,” the man says, sitting down next to him.
Chan nods, and gives Hyunjin a final pat before standing up.
Hyunjin finally feels dignified enough to look up and mutters a goodbye to his fellow astronaut. Then, he turns to the new voice, and his words come out in a garbled mixture of Sorry that’s broken up by another heave.
The angel, somehow, still manages to understand him.
“What are you apologizing for?”
Of course, Hyunjin thinks to himself. On his first day back at Houston, he vomits his guts out, looks like a mess, and meets the most beautiful person that walks the Earth.
“At least you held it in until you got out of the capsule. If it was still going at 6G, I’d feel bad for the interns,” the beautiful man laughs, and it’s music to Hyunjin’s ears. “Imagine spending your summer internship scrubbing out someone else’s breakfast from a millions of dollars worth machine.”
“Breakfast and dinner, I think.” He tries for a smile, then stops himself halfway. “How would they ever forgive me if that happened?”
“A stunning letter of recommendation and I think all would be forgiven,” the angel smiles, and for the first time, Hyunjin registers the steady hand at his elbow and the damp cloth wiping gently at his brow. It's familiar, but Hyunjin can't pinpoint how. “Come on, let’s get you to the showers.”
He walks him all the way there, arm around his shoulders, without a single complaint about the smell. Before he leaves Hyunjin to his own devices, he tucks one of those Christmas mints into Hyunjin’s hands, eyes twinkling just like the stars.
“Are you both from Australia?” Hyunjin asks. He’s sitting in Chan’s apartment. The sky is dark now, and he’s carefully taking spoonfuls of the dak juk into his mouth.
They’ve only known each other for a few months, but Hyunjin feels a sense of kindredship with Chan that he doesn’t feel with the two other astronauts or the reserve. Maybe it’s the fact that they’ve both grown up in Seoul at one point, or that they both share a love for music.
Chan produces music when he can, he told Hyunjin once. He has two friends in Seoul who are a producing duo, and he occasionally helps out with composition. His fiance, Minho, runs a dance studio and choreographs for some famous groups. He’s planning on retiring after, and rejoining 3Racha.
Hyunjin himself used to dance, and he still does, but not as much now. His days are filled with training, and his limbs are often too heavy with tiredness to move the way he did when he was younger.
“We’re both from Sydney,” Chan says, sitting across from Hyunjin. His dak juk has pieces of kimchi in it, a bit more than Hyunjin’s. “But weirdly enough, we didn’t meet until Felix came to SNU for a transfer year.”
Felix, Hyunjin repeats to himself. It feels right.
“He dances too, you know,” Chan smiles, almost knowingly. “And Minho’s been busy lately.”
Briefly, Hyunjin thinks back to Chan’s comment about Sydney, how he and Felix lived in such close proximity but took years to actually cross paths.
He wonders if he’s ever seen Felix in passing before, or if today was the first day he’d seen him.
Hyunjin would know if he’s seen Felix before. He’s an artist, and people like Felix stay in the creative cabinet of Hyunjin’s mind.
Felix, as Hyunjin learned, is their capsule communicator. He’s one of the few responsible for the direct communication between the astronauts and mission control.
He usually takes the backseat when it comes to communication, something about the other capcoms being less familiar and mostly because of administration issues he brushes off.
“Chris used to throw up like that almost everyday," Felix tells him, the two of them in the cafeteria after another brutal training session. They’re waiting for Chan, who is in the middle of a call with Minho. “Did you know what we used to do?”
Hyunjin shakes his head, focused on the way Felix’s eyes crinkle and the splatter of freckles across his cheeks.
“We’d go to a park, and there’s these spinning things that kids would go on. So Minho and I would just spin him there until he got used to it.”
Hyunjin chokes down a laugh. He could see it—imposing, stoic-faced but kind-hearted Chan wobbling across the mulch.
“I’m right here, you know?” Chan sighs, sliding into the seat next to the blond.
“Leadership requires trust and relatability, Channie,” Felix replies, fork fiddling with his food. “Right, Captain Hwang?”
“So he’s Captain Hwang but I’m Channie?” Chan asks with an overdone, annoyed lilt to his voice. “The others won’t respect me.”
“You called me Lixie in front of the others. It’s only fair.”
Chan sighs, hands up in defeat.
“Hyunjin, please.”
At this, Felix looks over, brows raised slightly.
Hyunjin clears his throat. “Call me Hyunjin, please.”
Felix smiles, bright and blinding as the sun. “Okay then, Hyunjin.”
“Here,” Felix drops a hair tie into his palm. It’s a new one, black and unstretched.
“This is my favorite brand,” he adds, gesturing to his own half-tied hair. “It doesn’t pull on your hair as much when you take it off.”
“Thank you,” he replies, his heart swelling.
Felix gives him another smile, then pats his shoulder before he turns.
He dreams feverishly of planes and flying across the stars. The controls are all blaring at him, and the cockpit is heating up. It’s the exact same model of the plane he used to pilot, down to the very buttons, colors of the lights, and his own uniform.
The engines burst, and he falls down in a spiraling firestorm. The ocean, when it hits him, floods his face with cold water. And in the very depths, there’s another faint body sinking.
Hyunjin wakes up then, to a blinding warm light that makes his eyes squint.
It takes him a minute to re-orient himself, to register the weight on his shoulder.
He’s slumped on Chan’s couch, the man in question snoring at the other armchair. Felix, on the other hand, is tucked against his shoulder, snoring quietly as his hair tickles Hyunjin’s nose.
It’s nice, having this kind of closeness before he goes far away from humanity.
He takes the remote and pauses the documentary playing, and closes his eyes again.
A month before they are due for launch, Minho returns. He and Chan are sickeningly in love, and if it wasn't for the pale, emptiness of his own apartment, Hyunjin would’ve left.
At least he has Felix for company, he thinks to himself. The two of them are turned away from the kitchen, ignoring whatever kind of flirting Chan and Minho have going on.
Felix’s face is pinched, and he’s constantly shifting on the rug. The lego set of the rocketship is just partially done. For the most part, it looks like a miniature version of the real deal.
By the fourth time he shifts, Hyunjin looks at him in concern. “Are you okay?”
Felix smiles, but it doesn’t really reach his eyes. “Yeah, I just slept wrong, I guess.”
Hyunjin nods, and gives him another pillow.
The next day isn’t much better.
Felix’s face is strained the whole work day. He shifts uncomfortably on his seat, fiddles with his food, and hardly talks.
“Did you pull a muscle?” Hyunjin asks, worried.
“Something like that, I guess.”
He sighs when Hyunjin turns on the seat heating, so Hyunjin makes sure to take the long way back to Felix’s apartment.
He wraps an arm around Felix’s waist and helps him up the steps, trying not to let the worry show on his face when he feels the brace.
“I can give you a massage,” Hyunjin offers when they enter, Felix splayed onto his smaller couch.
“You’ve been exhausted all day,” Felix replies, but his protest sounds futile.
“I’ll be fine,” he says, sitting by Felix’s hips.
Felix nods then, pulling up his shirt. The brace is a stark black against his pale skin, and on the back of his shoulders, there’s a few scattered freckles.
“I’ll get us takeout after,” he promises, and closes his eyes.
“What are you doing after the mission?” Felix asks him that night, the two of them showered and warmed. Hyunjin is borrowing one of Felix’s larger band shirts and sweats. Felix has his legs thrown over Hyunjin’s lap, leaning to the side against the couch.
“I don’t know,” Hyunjin replies, rubbing at Felix’s knee absentmindedly. Truth is, he’s spent so much of his life for this, he hasn’t had time to think about what comes later.
“More space?”
Hyunjin laughs, and shakes his head. “Something else, I think.”
Felix smiles, “Did Chris ever tell you what he planned?”
“Going back to music production, I think. He and Minho are moving back to Seoul after this.” He looks up to Felix, who is now playing with the loose thread of the blanket. “What about you?”
Felix nods, “They offered me a job. Write some lyrics, teach some dance classes.”
Hyunjin realizes, belatedly, he doesn’t know that much about Felix.
He knows his favorite food, the way he laughs, his love for makeup on certain days, his affinity to pose for a photo, and how competent he is at mission control. But not what he wants in the future, or why he’s even here in the first place.
Both of them skirted the topic.
“I used to dance too,” Hyunjin offers, taking Felix’s smaller hand in his own. It feels like an olive branch, a bridge closing a gap.
The corners of his lips lift, but it’s melancholic. “Yeah?”
“Never had much time after all of this.”
“I get it,” he replies. “I stopped because of this too. I didn’t want to, but astronaut training is brutal.”
“Why do mission control, then?”
Felix smiles, and it’s pained. “Chan and I were in the same program, and we promised to see through it with each other. He got in, so I’m going to be here with him until he comes home. He would’ve done the same for me.”
Hyunjin wants to ask if Felix is there because of his problems with his back. He swallows the question instead, and replies, “That’s very sweet.”
Felix hums, tangling their fingers, and rubs his thumb across Hyunjin’s knuckles. “Come home, okay?”
“Do you think it’ll feel like the training pool?” Hyunjin asks him, the two of them huddled on Felix’s rug. They’re both nursing the soju Felix had got earlier, the golden bow still wrapped around its neck.
“Darker and lonelier, I think,” Felix tells him gleefully. He’s tipsy, they both are. The alcohol warms them down to their stomach and loosens their limbs. Felix is in between Hyunjin’s legs, head pillowed on his shoulder. They’re both wrapped up in a blanket, watching Carl Sagan’s Cosmos in the background.
“What if I don’t come back?”
It’s always been a quiet fear of his. Hyunjin knows the best of the best have worked on the missions. He knows the systems have redundancy upon redundancy, and are tested beyond their breaking point. But still, the cold claw of fear creeps up on him.
At this, Felix shifts to look up at him. In the dark, under the glow of the TV, his freckles look more like constellations. Hyunjin wished he could’ve traced them earlier, found a constellation or two, and told Felix.
“You will,” he replies, the answer easy as breathing. “I’ll make sure of it.”
“But dying out there wouldn’t be so bad. If it happened.”
Most people would take that to mean something else. That this whole mission is Hyunjin’s sole purpose left in life, and he’s the kind to go out as a firework or supernovae. Truth is, he’s always wanted to die the way their sun will—of old age and with grace after seeing the beauty of the world.
Felix, to his credit, understands.
He smiles, dreamy when he whispers, “‘You are dust, and to dust you shall return.’ Genesis, 3:19.”
“I didn’t know you were religious.”
“I’m not,” he says. “It’s kind of romantic, no? We are made from stardust. Dying out there, in space, only means we are going home.”
There’s something about the way Felix says it, like death is an old friend and not something to run from. There’s an old familiarity around the topic.
Hyunjin can only think about how cold it’ll be in space. How far away he’ll be from everyone he cares about.
“But we’ll return to the stars either way, even if we’re rotting in our graves on Earth,” Felix says, twisting in Hyunjin’s hold.
“This is my home,” he promises, fixated on the long lashes of Felix’s hair, the way the light illuminates his starlight-colored hair, and the cupid bow of his lips.
Felix smiles, “Good.”
He kisses him, and Hyunjin melts into the warmth of Felix's mouth, drinking in the faint taste of soju and green tea.
Earth from space is nothing short of breathtaking—the swirling clouds, the dusty blue oceans, the glow of the sun behind it.
Hyunjin is the farthest away from home he has ever been, and soon, he’ll be even farther away.
“How is it, Captain Hwang?” A familiar voice sounds over his earpiece, slightly muffled by the static.
“Dark and cold,” Hyunjin replies. It’s black all around, with stars dotting the section of the sky faced away from the sun and Earth. “Beautiful, too.”
He can see the coastline from the window, the moving clouds and the thunderstorms too. Hyunjin takes a few photos, but he doubts it’ll compare to what he’s seeing right now.
“You can see the aurora borealis and australis from here,” he tells Felix, angling his camera better, then pressing the shutter a few times.
“Are you taking pictures right now?”
Hyunjin hums, “It’s breathtaking. Moonlit, but still beautiful.”
“God, don’t. I look terrible right now.” Felix makes a fake gagging noise. “Seriously, Hyunjin. My hair’s a mess, I don’t even have makeup on, and I’m wearing yesterday’s clothes.”
He gasps, “Wait. You’re practically a stalker right now. You pervert! Who in the world takes pictures of 8 billion people without their consent?”
Hyunjin can’t help but chuckle, his chest as weightless as his body. “I think the comms are recorded, Lix-ah.”
“Oh shit they are,” Felix coughs dramatically. “For the record, I was making a joke to lift the spirits of Captain Hwang. I was in no way insinuating that Captain Hwang is a pervert or that he is a criminal.”
The laugh rips out of him, sudden and loud. Chan shoots him a look, so does one of the other astronauts. He gives a shake of the head, and goes back to taking pictures. He makes sure to include him and Chan on one of them, then the whole crew.
There is no such thing as death, an old professor once told him, just a journey to equilibrium.
Hyunjin thinks that as he begins preparations for the flyby around the moon. In just a few minutes, they’ll be the most isolated humans in history, the farthest anyone has gone away from the pale blue dot of their home.
“It’ll be forty minutes of communication blockage as you go behind the moon,” Felix tells him, his voice ragged and tired. His shift ended hours ago, and there’s already someone else there. But he insisted on staying.
“Noted.”
Felix hums, “Tell me something you want to do after this mission.”
There’s something life-changing about seeing his home from so far, and suddenly missing it with a vicious vigor. He’s happy to be part of this mission, he wouldn’t change it for anything else. It also makes Hyunjin want to appreciate everyone and everything on Earth more.
Now that he’s so far away, he wants to be closer. He wants to buy a record player and slow dance with Felix as their favorite vinyls play. It'll be sickeningly romantic, but he knows Felix will smile and laugh and that's all that really matters.
“Go back to dancing and choreographing, maybe,” he says, honestly. From the side, Chan glances at him and gives him a knowing smile.
“With your thirty-year old creaky bones and joints?” Felix giggles, brighter than the unfiltered sun. “I suppose Minho has an extra spot for you too.”
“What will you do?”
The communication cuts out before Felix answers, and they are enveloped in the Moon’s shadow.
“I'll tell you about the first time we really met,” Felix tells him later, when his shift and Hyunjin’s awake-time align again. It’s almost the descent. And soon, Hyunjin will see Felix in person.
"Why not now?"
"I want to see your face when I tell you," Felix replies, filled with glee. Next to him, Chan cackles.
Strange, how he’s in space, and yet, the most divine being he knows is right there on Earth.
He can’t wait to be in Felix’s arms again, spill his heart and soul out in unintelligible hieroglyphics and hope that Felix deciphers it. Not because Felix is one of the smartest people Hyunjin knows, but because Felix's heart speaks the same code.
“What do you think my first meal back on Earth should be?”
Felix sighs. “Sorry to disappoint, but it’ll be hospital food.”
“Exciting.” Hyunjin had forgotten about that part. His bones will be too weak to support him, he might need rehabilitation to re-learn walking again.
“I’ll sneak you and Chris some kimchi fried rice and tteokbokki,” Felix promises, whispering loudly.
“This is recorded, Lix-ah.”
Felix clears his throat loudly, “For the record, I am entirely joking and would not dare imagine sneaking Captain Hwang and Commander Bang food—”
Hyunjin laughs, his heart swelling. He is the warmest he’s ever been.
The descent is rocky, shaky, and twenty minutes of pure adrenaline. Hyunjin’s heart is in his throat, and his hands are clammy with sweat. But he keeps his composure—he’s the crew’s pilot, after all. He can’t panic.
The parachute deployment yanks them back. The splashdown is a bit rough, as expected. But soon, they’re pulling themselves out of the station and shielding their eyes from the beacons that alert the crew where they are.
His legs are weak. Gravity is heavy on his bones—he’s almost forgotten what it means to be grounded, to feel his weight on his feet, to not have his hair floating around all the time.
But it’s nice to be home, to see his home from the inside and not from thousands and thousands of miles away.
He’s taken to the nearby base, where doctors prick and prod all over him. It takes just a week for him to get used to gravity again. The mission wasn’t long, not enough to weaken the muscles and bones.
Hyunjin can’t really sleep on the way back. He’s too nervous, too anxious. His leg bounces up and down far too often.
Chan is the same, so they play some card games before giving up. Chan settles on exchanging stories of him, Minho, and Felix. He takes his phone out and shows countless incriminating photos of Felix when he was younger. He fills the silence with stories of their time in Seoul and after.
Before they know it, they land at base. It’s filled with camera flashes, countless reporters, and the entire Houston crew who hoot and holler. They laugh when both Hyunjin and Chan trip over air, showering the whole crew with pats on the back and shoulder.
The moment they get some privacy, Hyunjin sees Minho. He dashes towards Chan, enveloping the older man with a crushing hug before lifting him up and spinning him around, Chan’s peals of laughter filling the air.
Right behind Minho is Felix, his hair loose and with bruised bags under his red-rimmed eyes. His cheeks are shiny when he throws himself at Hyunjin, his hands clutching at Hyunjin’s jacket.
Hyunjin’s own hands cling to Felix’s lean body, digging for warmth, their teeth clacking and mouths trying to close the infinitesimally small distance between them. But it’s still not enough. Hyunjin can’t quite breathe yet, he doesn’t think he can unless he gets under Felix’s skin and curls up there, right above his beating heart.
But for now, it’s enough. Hundreds of thousands of miles, now shrunk down to mere nanometers, held apart only by the electron repulsion of their atoms.
The warmth of Felix’s body is a shock to Hyunjin’s space-frozen body. It burns hotter than the core of stars, all-consuming and welcoming, thawing something deep within him, and Hyunjin thinks: I’m home.