Work Text:
Maybe this is the only way. Someone had written them in the ancient stars, only to burn abandonedly. With the ashes of them glinting on the ground, buried in the concrete under the Seoul traffic, Hyunjin is caught in despair. This might truly end here.
In the clutter of unspoken words, in a knotty mess of feelings unattended, in the unreleased sighs in the spaces between. In the distances, endlessly stretching and shrinking and stretching and shrinking, Hyunjin's eyes twitching, waiting with bated breath for the fabric to tear up. Waiting for something, anything and nothing at all, counting on the remnants of celestial bodies, now enkindled and lost, and he can't do this, so maybe, just maybe, this is the only way.
In the middle of the night, he had painted a broken vase, its remaining contours bathed in the moonlight, shards dug in the sand. Taken a slightly blurry snap of it with trembling fingers, tapped on send and fallen asleep immediately after, whispering to himself that he doesn't care. He does. Better to care and get your heart shattered rather than turn it into a frozen pulp between stone-like ribs. He still wishes he could turn it into ice, even for a moment, to evade the continuous pain of ambiguity.
Seungmin doesn't reply.
The fucker is stuck in, what, Gwangju on a week-long shoot? Once it is done, he spreads his wings to fly over to Somewhere, Europe for some commercial. Then, to Tokyo for this prestigious film award ceremony that every critic under the sun has been predicting for him to become the ultimate star of, snagging main trophies for his career-defining projects. Throw him on a map, and he becomes a spinning top.
Hyunjin, for his part, has been an avid traveller, too, at least for the last couple years since his art took off internationally, gaining him more opportunities for out-of-country exhibitions and even some small showcases. That's how he even managed to take hold of Seungmin last year in London. Quite physically taking him by the hand in the tumultuous crowd, tugging him into his warmth, away from one life to another. The smell of curry, chipped plaster beneath his shoes under the table in this hole in the wall, Seungmin's lips stretching in a mischievous smile, the most sweet and tangy kind, right to his taste, clogging his arteries, blocking his airways. For a fleeting moment, he was real, and in the blink of an eye, he wasn't. And they promised each other to stay in touch, for sure this time around, and they didn't.
Hyunjin wants to put all the shards of this metaphorical vase into an express package to Gwangju and let him know this is what he's been bleeding for years. Wants to yell at him to turn his head and take a look at the mess left behind.
How do you catch a ghost?
Days slip by. Nothing changes.
Sleep evades him. Things don't seem to have a point. Does he even have a point, in this myriad of things? Does he even make sense, in this linear, two-dimensional existence?
It comes to him, a eureka moment, a shock of the lightning, between the dove-coloured graveyard hours and lilac-painted sunrise. And it dawns on him that this might be the end. With the ink drying today, this is the only way.
Blocks of text in a standard black font on his phone blink at him askance. He blinks at them in return. The fog in his head finally parts.
After, he drafts a quick message to Seungmin, with all details and coordinates, just the way his analytical brain loves, and hits send. Hyunjin's flight is in seven hours. It's a zap.
Two coffees and one breakdown over his stupid life and shirt preferences later, he finds himself at the airport. In the groupchat, Minho is asking who is up for a barbecue party on the weekend at his and Chan's. The dread fills his bloodflow with icicles. He cannot be doing this. What is even the point, what is the fucking point of any of this?
How to catch a ghost?
The answer is: to turn yourself into one and find it in the ghost world, obviously. Let his weary bones go with the wind, wherever the nature hauls him.
His phone burns in his hand with another message sent, a lifetime in a bottle coming ashore mere moments ago.
Each time I open my heart to you, you flee. Each time I say I love you, you delude yourself into thinking I'm a liar. I've tried god knows how many years, chased your shadow like a lovesick fool, no language has means to convey how I need you. I think, this time around, you need to see it for yourself. And if you fail to see, even if you fail to want to, it's fine too.
And digits with dots scribbled at the end like hugs and kisses.
Hyunjin's sight refocuses on the text in front of him. A barbecue party offer with replies trickling in below. A warm house with pairs of shoes mixed up at the doorstep, and a queen-sized bed.
Hyunjin locks the phone, heart drowning in longing.
The plane takes off.
***
The toughest part about experiencing Iceland is the spine-chilling understanding of the fact that sooner rather than later, Hyunjin will have to part with local coffee. And it's delicious in ways that make his brain curl into itself and start purring like a silly little orange cat. Truly fascinating and terribly eye-opening.
He lands, takes care of necessities - his luggage, his accommodations, making sure he has a stable connection to the internet because what if he goes missing and his friends don't have a single clue of where to find him (Jeongin listens to his sob story through FaceTime, says "Bruh" and hangs up). After checking in, showering and willing his face to look presentable for the outside world, he goes out. First day of any trip is always a free game, a playground for his chaotic and free-minded state, his exhausted conscience not feeling up to the itinerary. He walks around and wanders about, treats himself to some chocolate balls from a convenience store that every travel blogger hypes up. Buys coffee, gets an epiphany. In the course of foreseeable events, he quickly gets inspired by the architecture of the city, thankfully not forgetting to bring his sketchbook and pencils with him. Sharp angles, walls of stone looming over the entire plane of land, domes covered in glass, stretches of road with buildings splashed with the brightest colours, evenings growing quiet and pensive as opposed to the endlessly bursting nightlife in Seoul. That day, he returns to his hotel, falls face flat on the bed covers, pencil still clutched between his fingers.
Jetlag is a bitch, and so Hyunjin draws. Sketches are spattered onto every corner of the available paper. Seungmin sitting on a bench, clad in his trusty plaid coat, too expensive to even breathe around it, looking away from the camera while the colours are bursting in the backdrop. Seungmin with sea breeze finding home in his hair, ruffling his brown locks like a wild beast, waves an eternal blue on his skin. Seungmin being a steady presence near him, warm hand holding a slightly colder one. Seungmin reminding him to not go crazy with caffeine, but he's not even here now and he's not going to be, so what's the point. He's drunk too much of this silky adrenaline, and now his sleep schedule is beyond fucked, and Seungmin is still in his head, between his fingers, his lungs full of his smell. He feels so real, Hyunjin's eyes fill with tears.
With the last burst of energy, he flicks the pencil away and loses grip of reality.
The next day, he wakes up, stares down at the sketchbook unseeingly, and half an hour later, there is a new sketch before him, materialized out of the darkest chambers of his mind - hand clinging onto a plaid cloth, veins and tendons on full display, fingers turning purple blue in their strain. The plaid is the warmest beige colour.
A couple days later, he is off to Höfn. Fuck knows how he finds himself there, but sketches grow even more pathetic and delusional than they had used to be. Seungmin with crumbles of skyr cake on his lips; two shadows eating hot dogs at a gas station; two pairs of feet stepping onto the marble floor; Seungmin's face soaked with the aurora blaze, technicolor dripping down the line of his jaw; Hyunjin himself crying on the bed with hands covering his face, aurora flowing through his fingers like a love river.
This place was to serve as an escape yet slowly becomes a new prison.
His message with details and coordinates had been read a few days ago, with no reply. His DMs have been exploding though, Jisung sending an eloquent "WHAT THE FUCK DUDE" followed by about 35 voice messages (which in itself is absolutely insane considering that Jisung despises voice messages with a passion that can burn this planet down), which would pique Hyunjin's interest if he didn't feel so numb. Minho sent one quick "mf read minnies texts or im grilling your ass for lunch", but there is evidenly nothing to read, their chat remaining blissfully devoid of new messages, so maybe, the choice has already been made.
It's the D-day, and Hyunjin's rabbit heart is drumming its swan song.
His trusty camera is a brick of lead on his chest when he approaches the harbour. There's a quite a lot of people there already, and there will be even more soon, once the time comes.
When he was a kid, he saw a documentary on TV about northern lights in Iceland, and the beauty, contorted and misshaped on the blue screen, has kept haunting him ever since. Back then, his mom took notice of the way his face had lit up with excitement, and told him to grow up to be a good young man and go see those pretty lights in action one day. When he told Seungmin about the long-held dream of his, he swore he saw a speck of a lost aurora pooling in his eyes, and in that instant, Hyunjin wished to never let him go. Blew out thousands of birthday candles, broke a hundred wishbones, collected dozens of four-leaf clovers just to make it real.
Something would always tear them apart. Between rivers of city concrete and turbulent midnights, something cracked and never patched itself up.
He used to whisper love into those lips, then in those ears, a bit further away but still bearable. Then into his hands, through their handshakes and soft caresses, slowly growing too shy, too cautious, too distant and guarded. Seungmin used to believe him, but somewhere on that path, something took control, and he started doubting himself, and, alongside it, them.
Hyunjin was a fool, with passion and love rotting inside him without an outlet, too pushy, too careless, never gentle or understanding enough, never stopping his own tornado to pick up the debris of Seungmin's confidence. Then he would apologize, and Seungmin would apologize too. He used to say it was fine, and Hyunjin used to say that it wasn't, but they would make it fine eventually. And they did, and it finally was, but fine was never enough, not after everything they had shared. Hyunjin learned the art of care, Seungmin got his confidence back. Their bond was brought back to life, only to flatline.
The smell of grilled lamb at this sketchy spot at 2 am, Seungmin looking at him, wide-eyed, flustered, lost, turning into stone under his hands. He got some sauce in the corner of his mouth, so Hyunjin wiped it off. They paid the bill and left, Seungmin thanking him for accompanying him. 'I was lucky you couldn't sleep and craved some lamb, just like me,' he said something along those lines, his stupid plaid coat rustling in the wind, and Hyunjin's heart broke again.
Whatever Hyunjin wanted him to see, Seungmin, alas, was eternally blind to.
Another snap of a camera, the shot taking in two painted hands holding one another. Seungmin's jaw clenched in irritation. A smudge of two bodies intertwined under the rain, contours intentionally blurry and vague. Seungmin turning to him with eyes almost vacant, a small, swiftly drying lake the only presence inside them, and wishing him luck with his new inspiration. Hyunjin growing dumbfounded, then stunned, then angry. The drawing of Seungmin, his undeniable frame, almost scattered with hearts and arrows. Seungmin thanking him shyly, still keeping his distance, his empty words knocking softly on the newly formed armour of his. Shots, shots, shots in the middle of the night. Something bursting and pulsating, first carefully placed on his altar, then dropped there, then thrown across the room. Something full, then something cracked, then, in the end, something broken. All these shards, only for the blind eyes to see.
So if the only way, this beautiful aurora river at the world's edge, is not going to make Seungmin open his eyes, then, Hyunjin guesses, nothing else will.
The moment slowly arrives.
It's a sight to see. The colours are spectacular, unbelievable, unrelenting, piercing yet tender and sweet. Three-dimensional, vivid in the way one might stretch out their hand and expect to find it coloured with the stars. Enveloping, kissing every inch of his existence, calm, spellbinding, so demanding in its passion and fearlessness. A kaleidoscope of zeal and energy, love dripping down on his hungry bones. He'd been so, so gone for so many years, screaming like a kid for a drop of water, and now the eternal ocean is waiting for him.
Hyunjin cries.
The pictures turn out great, even with his lacking technique and a limited knowledge of how camera settings for such nature events work best. He had the help of a few travel photography blogs and a couple hours of research behind him, so he allows himself to be cautiously proud of his work. He might print one of these and frame it in Chan and Minho's living room if they ask him nicely (as in, without relentless teasing).
He turns his head and sees him.
The phone vibrates.
"I'm so sorry," the notification says, but it doesn't even matter anymore.
Hyunjin takes off. The fading lights of the aurora crown his head as he runs.
Once he steps right in front of Seungmin, he unceremoniously grabs him by his shoulders, twists and turns his frame so that the aurora becomes his background. In between his lungs, the flowers bloom, the first day of spring after decades of cold.
And Seungmin is so beautiful, it simply hurts.
"I'm sorry, I'm so..." His hands envelop Hyunjin's face, his furnace, the core of the earth.
"You're here."
Seungmin looks at him in the way he hasn't for so long, Hyunjin barely knows what to do with himself. Stock-still, a boulder under a waterfall, letting the love drown him.
"I'm so sorry. I'm so- These damn texts wouldn't get sent, I've tried so many times, I don't know why, I- Fuck. Please."
Seungmin's words fly off his lips in panic and haste, fade away the moment the wind catches them. Hyunjin is mesmerized.
"I'll make it right. I was- so stupid, how did I let it get to this point? You've been screaming into the void for so long, been hurting for so long. I never should've- God, don't leave me. Please. I'll make it right, love, I promise," his sunlight, voice a shaking leaf on an autumn tree. Hyunjin is so scared to hush it away, adamant to not make it crumble.
"No. Don't make it right."
Seungmin's face twists. He looks so stupid with his plaid coat and his flushed cheeks and his chapped lips and his scarf-less neckline. Hyunjin wants to share all auroras, all Londons and Seouls with him.
"What- you-"
"Don't make anything right. Don't think about right. Just be with me."
They hold each other in the hurricane of halcyon and dream glow, puzzles of their lives finally, with a satisfying click from above, slotting into place. Hyunjin feels his heart take shape, the bloody pulp thawing out, and smiles.
"Just stay."