where stars land | haobin

eleven.

"Hao, do you ever wonder where stars land?" Hanbin asks. They're at a park a few streets away from both their houses; it's an unseasonably warm day for mid-February Seoul and Zhanghao's just finished packing his last suitcase that very morning. His flight departs tomorrow at eight.

Zhanghao adjusts his legs so Hanbin can lie more comfortably in his lap. "Hm? What do you mean?"

"The soulmate stars that have their strings cut. Do you ever wonder where they land?"

Zhanghao tries to recall what they were taught about cutting soulmate strings. People barely knew anything about them, considering how little they occurred. Anything they were taught in school was vague scientific theory at best and completely made-up folklore at worst. "They combust when they come into contact with the atmosphere, right? So I suppose there's little bits of them everywhere."

"They're everywhere..." Hanbin muses quietly, closing his eyes. "Do you think it's sad? That no matter where we go we're surrounded by the ruins of someone else's destiny?"

Zhanghao smiles, trying to lighten the mood. "Hanbin-ah, what's brought this on?"

"Nothing," he answers decisively, plastering a smile on his face. "It was just a passing thought. Sorry for being so gloomy."

"It's okay." Hanbin feels the tension fall away from him as Zhanghao runs his fingers through Hanbin's hair, brushing it away from his forehead where it's been long enough since his last haircut his hair is beginning to cover his eyes. "You know I love you. No matter what."

Hanbin opens his eyes to send him a look. "You're only saying that because you're leaving."

"No, I'm saying it because I mean it."

"I know."

They don't say anything more. They stay like this, Hanbin with his head in Zhanghao's lap, Zhanghao's fingers playing idly with Hanbin's hair in the late afternoon sunshine, until the sky turns orange and yellow and the sun pulls away, fading beneath the horizon. Hanbin must have fallen asleep at some point, seeing how even his breathing is, but Zhanghao stays awake and watches the world around him enter twilight.

He watches the streetlamps come alight, watches the empty roads begin to fill with cars, watches windows light up down the street, watches the universe celebrate the end of another day with the act of coming home, and he thinks about how symbolic it is, how beautiful it is that humans spend their lives waiting to go back to the places they come from.

He watches as his neighborhood, the neighborhood he's lived in since he was a child, the only home he's ever really remembered, says goodnight to him for the last time. It's not really the last time; life will go on after he's gone, but it's the last time he'll be around to see it for a long time, and he thinks it should mean something.

Hanbin reawakens after the evening has fallen. He asks if it's been uncomfortable for Zhanghao while he's been sleeping and Zhanghao, staunchly ignoring the numbness in his legs, smiles and tells him not to be silly.

Zhanghao's mother invites Hanbin to have dinner with them, on the premise that she's prepared a feast for Zhanghao's last meal with them, and there's simply too much food for their family to eat on their own, which is her go-to excuse whenever she wants Hanbin to join them, the excuse he's heard so many times over the years he's given up trying to say no. It's a jovial meal; there's no sadness over him leaving, only the overwhelming love and pride Hanbin can hear in every word they speak, and he knows how happy they are that Zhanghao will have an education better than he could have anywhere else, even if it means he'll be far away.

Zhanghao walks him back to his house after dinner. It's the same path they used to walk on their way home from elementary school; they'd always make one big loop around the neighborhood before going home just so they had another half hour to play together, and none of their parents had ever figured out why on Earth they came home later than all the other kids every day. It's been more than a decade since then, but as they reach Hanbin's street, Zhanghao pulls him to a stop before they reach the street corner.

"One more round," he says, smiling, eyes moonlit in the night. "For old times' sake."

Hanbin mirrors his smile, the distant memory coming back to him. "I can't believe how long it's been since we used to do that. I don't even remember why we stopped."

They both know the answer, but neither of them say it. Somewhere along the way they'd grown complacent and forgotten that their time together wouldn't be limitless. Hanbin thinks of all the extra half hours they'd given up over the years, and he imagines himself going back in time and collecting them one by one, coming back to the present with an armful of minutes to pave the road before them.

Would it be enough, then? Would they have had enough time together it wouldn't hurt so much to say goodbye?

"Sleep well, Hao. I love you."

"Sleep well, Hanbin. I'll see you tomorrow morning."