where stars land | haobin

nine.

Hanbin and Zhanghao have their differences, as every couple does. As everyone does, really. They've never been significant enough to really bother either of them; Hanbin likes his coffee with milk and Hao likes his dark, Hanbin's a dog person and Hao's a cat person, just little things that made up the edges of two puzzle pieces destined to fit together.

Hanbin's always been somewhat more sentimental than Zhanghao. He lives in the past and the present and the future all at once, a blessing and a curse at the same time. Something to remind him he's making beautiful memories yet leaving them behind with every passing moment.

Zhanghao lives in the present and doesn't, as far as Hanbin knows, let things like these bother him. He's focused on the moment he's in and doesn't fret about the next until he's already in it. It balances them out, really; Hao pulls him back to reality when he gets lost in his own mind, and his presence reminds Hao to appreciate everything beautiful before it passes. It's the way they've always been.

They return to their usual routines the next morning, lingering at Zhanghao's locker in the hallway to talk while he gathers his notes for the first lesson of the day, heading to class together, taking the two desks pushed together by the windows on the right.

Gyuvin appears to have spoken to Hao and found out what had happened somewhere between yesterday afternoon and this morning; he expresses no surprise to see them back together, only flashing them a mildly relieved glance and a bright smile. Matthew knows what happened, clearly, since Hanbin's the one who told him. Ricky's poker face is smooth enough no one can generally tell what he's thinking if he doesn't want them to, but Hanbin doubts Ricky doesn't know about the scholarship. Probably the first one to find out, in hindsight; he's Hao's best friend, after all.

"So, forgive me for poking the elephant in the room," Gyuvin begins hesitantly, as they sit down for lunch with their trays. "But congratulations, Hao. I'm really happy for you."

"Thanks, Gyuvin," Zhanghao answers, smiling. "It came as a surprise, really. I'm sorry for not telling all of you sooner."

"When are you leaving?"

"In ten days' time. It's all moving really fast, honestly."

Though the conversation is about Zhanghao, everyone else at the table is watching Hanbin from their peripheral vision, waiting to gauge his reaction. Hanbin feels the weight of everyone's stares as he looks up from his bowl of rice, and he breaks into an apologetic smile.

"Don't look at me like that, guys," Hanbin pleads. "I know what you're all thinking. Me and Hao aren't breaking up. At least, not in the near future. Right?"

"Of course," Zhanghao agrees, without missing a beat. "We'll find a way to make it work. Plenty of people do long distance relationships, and I'll fly back whenever I can to visit."

None of them really look all that convinced, and Hanbin continues talking. "Come on, we're literally soulmates. Have some faith in the divine."

He rests his free hand in Zhanghao's lap and the other boy takes it immediately, threading their fingers together the familiar way they've always done. Hanbin smiles as they meet each others' eyes, but there's an unmistakable waver in his expression; statistically, most long distance relationships don't end up working out, and it's rare but not devastatingly rare for people not to end up with their soulmate.

It's a social shift that's occurred within the last decade or so. The strings linking people to their star by their pinky finger can be severed if the person wants it so, cutting the connection between them and their soulmate for the rest of their lives. It doesn't affect or diminish their feelings towards each other, considering it's merely a physical manifestation of one's choice to leave their soulmate.

When a soulmate string is cut, the star connected to it burns out and falls from the sky, hurtling towards Earth, an asteroid full of broken dreams taking its last breath as a bearer of destiny's mandate. As the star comes into contact with the atmosphere it explodes into a sunshower of light and shatters into a billion pieces that rain down from the sky, a symbol of finality, a harbinger of endings.

Within the last decade or so, with the evolution of society's mindsets, as the stigma against leaving your soulmate began to lighten up, it began to happen more often than it did in the past. But even then, Hanbin has never seen it, doesn't even know of a single person who's ever seen it happen.

That's how rare it is for soulmates to leave each other.

He realises belatedly how asinine his worries are. Realistically, how likely is it that they're the one pair of soulmates amongst the billions of other pairs in the world that fate made a mistake with? Every relationship has its rough patches. Theirs in particular has been lucky enough to have it easy all this time, but Hanbin should have expected they would run into a major conflict like this at some point, why not get it over and done with sooner rather than later?

He doesn't let his mind wander anymore. Zhanghao is leaving in ten days, and he's going to make the most of the last ten days he has left with his soulmate. No matter what comes after, he's not going to let himself fret over it. What, he asks himself, really is the point of squandering your present away worrying about a future that hasn't arrived yet?

Take it one step at a time, Hanbin-ah. Let the stars in the sky light the way.