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Donghyuck thrived on the summer days that glittered gold. He and Mark would spend the hours burning their hands on rusty swings, eating cherry popsicles, and falling off of skateboards. Mark always kept a handful of Hello Kitty bandages in his pockets for every scrape. They’d walk down the sidewalk, listening to Donghyuck’s newest musical obsession on his iPod, shoulders bumping because the cord of the earbuds was too short.
Mark preferred the summer nights, watching the stars, tracing each constellation with the tip of his finger, recounting every fact he could remember about them. Donghyuck always pointed out the futility of it all, they lived too close to the city, the pollution was too dense. Each figure was missing half of its stars. He gave up when he looked over to see the scrunch of Mark’s nose, the specks of starlight that reflected in his pupils. He listened to the stories about Orion, Andromeda, Jason and the Argonauts, anything and everything until their parents called them inside.
They grew up under the summer sunsets, when their favorite realities blended together, and they’d run into Mark’s driveway, discard their skateboards, and take their place on the lawn. They watched each of the stars blink on, one-by-one. Donghyuck resigned himself to listening to the lull of Mark’s voice and batting at the fireflies that flitted right past the tip of his nose.
The season always passed though, and eventually the too-hot breezes would turn frigid and drive them inside. Instead, they’d stick their heads out of Mark’s bedroom window, Donghyuck would rest his chin on Mark’s shoulder, and they’d let the wind bite their cheeks.
---
The day before Mark’s eighteenth birthday, Donghyuck shoves him behind the wheel of his car and tells him to drive.
“What? Where are we going?” he asks.
“You’ll see,” Donghyuck calls as he runs over to the passenger side.
Mark doesn’t know what makes him listen, maybe the way the corner of his lips pull back, or the way his feet bounce on the floors, maybe both. He follows each instruction that cuts through the music on Donghyuck’s phone, taking them away from the city, away from the sprawling suburbs where they’ve grown up, and out for miles, until everything familiar has been left behind and all that’s left is the sound of the engine on the open road and the melodies that Donghyuck hums with his forehead pressed against the window.
Eventually, they turn off the highway and into an empty parking lot. They’re surrounded by trees in nearly all directions.
“Hiking?” Mark asks.
“Sort of. Pop the trunk.”
Donghyuck pulls two fully-packed backpacks out.
“How did you manage to get those into my car without me noticing?”
“Your mom helped."
"You were in cahoots with my mother? So, this was a whole scheme.”
Donghyuck laughs, “Cahoots? Who the hell says ‘cahoots’ anymore?”
He shoves one of the backpacks into Mark’s chest, “Just take this and follow me.”
By the time Donghyuck decides it’s okay to stop, the sky is turning pink and orange and gold.
“Can I know what we’re doing now?” Mark’s breathing is uneven.
“What do you think we’re doing?” He pulls a blanket from the bag and lays it on the ground.
“Oh.” Mark’s voice is quiet but he’s smiling. He looks to the horizon, “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”
Donghyuck hums, settling with his back propped against the backpack. Mark mirrors his posture.
He only breaks the silence when the last traces of pink have faded from view. He traces Cassiopeia with the tip of his finger. His hands are bigger than they used to be, they plot out whole portions of the figures.
“It makes me feel so small,” he says.
“Why do you say that?” Donghyuck shifts so he’s on his side, facing Mark, his left cheek on the back of his palm.
He takes a moment to gather himself. “Well, we really are small from a cosmic perspective. Just two people on one planet, in one solar system, in one galaxy, in one local group, in one supercluster, which is in another supercluster, which is part of a supercluster complex.” He lists them off on his fingers. “We’re like specks of dust, and we’ll be gone the moment the universe looks away.” He takes a deep breath. “It just…” He pauses. “It fills me with existential dread.”
Donghyuck hums, “I think we’ve all been there.”
Mark looks at him, “And you aren’t paralyzed by it?”
“I used to be, sometimes at least. But think about this,” he takes a breath, “the butterfly effect says that minute changes in one place can have much bigger implications when you look at the larger whole.” His pace picks up until his words blur together as his hands become more animated. “And then in Chaos Theory, the interactions of systems are unpredictable because of all of the variables, the sheer number of intricate details where one difference could change everything.” He sits up. “Have you heard of the Many-Worlds Interpretation?”
Mark shakes his head.
“Well basically, it says that for every decision that’s made, a new universe is created for each potential outcome to be played out. That means that every decision you or I or anyone makes creates however many universes.” He sits back on his hands. “That’s not small, Mark. That’s larger than life.”
“When did you learn all of this?” Mark faces Donghyuck with wide eyes.
“I spend a lot of time procrastinating.” The corners of his lips pull back just slightly and he ducks his head.
Mark snorts. “No, really.”
“I guess, I’ve been doing a lot of research. I’ve been trying to figure out what I want to study in college and this is what I’ve landed on. I mean,” he pauses, “it all started with you. All those nights under the stars. You were the one who made them interesting to me.”
Mark is propped up on his right arm, chin tucked into his shoulder. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I didn’t want you to know that I actually listen to you, dumbass.” He punches Mark’s shoulder.
---
A week later, Mark’s car smells like the mango popsicles that melted on their hands at the park. It’s been a long day, reliving what their summers used to be, from the corner store they used to frequent, to the park, to the same set of swings. The hinges have only grown stiffer over the years.
Donghyuck moves to open his door, but Mark stops him.
“Can we just,” he pauses, “sit here for a few minutes?”
Donghyuck nods and settles back into the seat, dropping his phone into the cupholder to amplify his playlist. Beyond him, the sky is glowing, lit up in gold, and Mark finds that this is his favorite time of day. Thinks maybe it always has been, since he was nine-years-old and still wanted to be an astronaut, when he came home every day with fresh scrapes and bruises because he and Donghyuck were still learning how to skateboard.
They wait in the hot car to watch the fireflies as they rise from the ground to the treetops and fly off to meet the stars.
“They always reminded me of you,” Mark says.
Donghyuck looks at him and they smile.
Mark huffs out a breath, “Okay, let’s go.”
Donghyuck links their pinkies as they walk across the grass and sends a thank you to the stars for helping him find his way home.