Heart

by Victoria_Ejovva

Summary:

“One sees clearly only with the heart. What essential is invisible to the eyes.”

Jimin had longed to feel love before the worst of everything could come, but his heart was desperately unable to handle even the simplest of tasks. That’s what he thought.

Notes:

• A translation of Сердце by Victoria_Ejovva

Chapter 1: I

There are so many people around. They are all different—darting along streets and avenues, staring at glowing signs and banners, pressing close to shop windows. Tall, short, young, old… Somewhere very close a car horn blares, and I turn my head just in time to notice a vehicle that barely managed to brake. My heartbeat accelerates, and in that very moment fear locks my body in place. Late and unnecessary—the Toyota stands still, growling with its engine, patiently waiting for the rabbit that slipped through on the dying green light to hop farther away. I exhale.

Cars don’t scare me. People don’t scare me. Honestly, even the current state of the world doesn’t scare me. It’s entirely possible that I won’t live to see an alien invasion, an asteroid hitting the Earth, or glaciers collapsing. No—that’s not right. I won’t live to see it for sure.

My heart rate settles. Sensation finally returns to my arm—letting me know the sensor triggered, that my body panicked. I smile to myself and bow politely to the driver. He’s funny—dark mustache hiding irritated lips, and I choose to imagine that only pleasant words spill from his mouth. The world is already rough; why add to this dirty reality. Tightening my grip on the stack of papers tucked into the crook of my elbow, I adjust the box with the cake and hurry on. I hurry home.

It’s been a long time since I’ve been in my apartment. Everything must be dusty by now, and every model airplane probably needs checking for damage. I inhale the warm street air more deeply—now from the pedestrian side, so I won’t inconvenience anyone else. Enough. I hurry, ignoring passersby staring into the glow of dozens of screens behind display windows.

I don’t care what the news says—the world has changed so much over the past twenty years, but sometimes I still wonder if my parents knew it would turn out like this. A melody sticks in my head. It’s meant to drown out the wrong rhythm of my heart, which only just returned to normal, allowing me to leave the room that reeked of medicine. There are no more tubes in my nose, and that makes me happy. Yes. Happy. Smiling, I feel my cheeks warm, and the silly children’s song in my head shifts into equally foolish thoughts about how I need to phrase a wish before blowing out a candle.

In truth, the wish has existed for a long time already. Too bad it can’t come true.

My phone vibrates in my pocket. I have to shift the entire load into one hand to fish it out and answer the call. It’s my doctor. My friend. My chosen family. The definition changes every time, but right now I’m certain—family is calling.

“Jimin!” His voice is breathless, partly upset, almost plaintive. “You left! I asked you to wait—I would’ve taken you home.”

“It’s okay, hyung.” A crooked smile slips off my lips. Seokjin-hyung often amuses me. Today with his exaggerated offense; yesterday with damp eyes full of sympathy. “I wanted to stop by a bakery. You would’ve talked me out of it. And I really needed to buy a cake.”

“Ah. Of course. Of course.” Seokjin-hyung pretends to understand, but I’ve learned to read him too well. I give him a moment of silence. “Jimin-ah! You spent so much time in that room—did you even hear what happened last night? What kind of cake are you talking about?!”

Laughter breaks free. People around me hurry past; the sound should distract them, but they’re busy with their own lives. They’re afraid.

I’m not.

“It’s a bento cake, hyung. I want to make a wish.”

He grumbles into the receiver, processing, but he won’t dare argue. I’m in a winning position. I can bargain.

“You can’t take my wish away.”

“Then wish for no catastrophes and a pager signal, baby. Text me before you go to sleep…” Of course, Seokjin-hyung doesn’t dare refuse me. I try not to abuse it, but I really need this cake right now. I hear the phone being switched to speaker mode—the sound quality shifts unmistakably. Hyung is nervous. I’m no longer under his jurisdiction. “And text me in the morning. When you wake up. Don’t overdo it, and don’t sit up working too long. I know you picked up projects before you were hospitalized.”

“You know it all, don’t you? Don’t worry. In the end, maybe tomorrow other life-forms will be strolling down the streets, and the pager won’t matter anymore.”

The question sounds mocking, even though I tried to keep it light. Fatigue outweighs my vocal cords. To his indignant grumbling, I end the call and tilt my head back toward the sky.

It’s barely changed. Still just as blue as it was in childhood, in my teens, and even two weeks ago—when I had to be admitted for recovery and another round of tests.

I raise a hand to shield my eyes from the sun and look closer. Small clouds resemble little sheep, and that’s… nice. September is good with its nearly clean sky and warm days. Even if the pager issued by the hospital doesn’t ring, I won’t be upset—I’ve already stopped waiting.

You just have to let go, and everything comes on its own. At least, that’s what Mom always said.

Reaching a noisy intersection, I hear a report looping on the massive screens, but I really don’t want to focus on it.

“At this stage it’s too early to speak of a natural object, but we are considering all possible versions: from harmful particles to a meteorite or even… artificial equipment.”

Another expert who stirs nothing inside me but protest and the urge to smirk. At night the sky really was too… bright? But it seems everyone has gone mad over ideas of extraterrestrial civilizations and an alien visit to Earth. Though I’m hardly one to dismiss those hypotheses. Not in my family.

It’s only about a twenty-minute walk home, and the most logical choice is the route through the park, farther away from screens and receivers broadcasting apocalyptic bulletins. It’s all nonsense.

Slowing down the moment I step into the green zone, I tilt my head up again. The rustle of leaves not yet yellowed beckons, tries to distract me, and I fall for it like a lamb following its shepherd. Why not.

One glance at my own wrist—there’s the watch, tracking pulse, heart condition, valve oscillations… So many gadgets in such a small thing, and I want to test it in action. Again. Biting my lip, I start counting down: three, two… one. Gripping the hospital records and the cake more tightly, I take off running. Who knows how much longer I’ll be able to run, how much longer the devices will keep counting pulse lines—freedom is something I want to feel right now.

The grass underfoot is slightly damp, but I don’t care. Reaching a small alley, I collapse right there. Greenery and silence all around; even like this I probably stand out—red hair is noticeable in any bushes. Seokjin-hyung always says I’m easy to spot in a crowd and that dyeing my hair was my best decision. I think he’s right.

The sky gradually darkens, my twenty minutes home stretch inevitably—so be it.

— It’s soft here, — I chuckle under my breath, wriggling my shoulders against the grass, not afraid of staining the beige sweater. — A great place, Jimin.

It’s so calm inside… I don’t even notice right away that the watch is beeping again. I catch only the final notes before it goes silent—I managed to catch my breath in these urban thickets. All my attention goes to the sheep; I focus on them. Their races are one of my favorite entertainments. In the end, I can allow myself this sometimes.

Ahead lies the work rhythm again, adult actions, responsibility, while Seokjin-hyung shifts his roles toward me, mixing doctor/friend/family into one, keeping my health under control. A congenital heart defect—nasty stuff, but even that you can grow used to over twenty-five years of life.

Turning my head, I notice the bento cake box and smile again. It’s my foolish hope, not an adult action, but to hell with it. I want to have time to enjoy everything I can try. Every attempt.

— You can’t melt, right?

Talking to objects and animals is another childish habit, and I fall for that too. My guide of desire might suffer—I’ll have to hurry. The rest of the way home passes too quickly, though not so fast that the watch lets out that awful sound again. I wonder if Seokjin-hyung gets the stats from it in real time. With his feigned worry, I don’t doubt for a second that he’s tormenting himself right now with the urge to call again.

In the dry remainder: after lunch I left the hospital, stopped by a pastry shop, caught fragments of news that held me up for a while, then the park… Yes, it took more than twenty minutes, and the apartment door opened closer to evening.

— Sally? Baby? — I call out to my friend, my family, the one who now needs care from me.

After scanning the corners of the entryway, I carefully place my white sneakers on the shoe rack and, tossing the papers onto the tall narrow console table, carry the cake into the living room. Dusk shows through the windows; the warm September wind hasn’t yet reached the room, but I’m already hurrying to let it in.

Sally is sitting on the windowsill, her tail swaying back and forth as she watches. Tracking the sky, just as I was a little while ago. I crouch down, resting my elbows on the sill—I want to join her, maybe I’ll spot something worthy of the news reports.

I like where my home is situated: far enough from the center, almost no bright signs nearby, so sometimes you can still make out a scattering of stars in the sky. Just in case someone does hang a neon banner, I’ve insured myself. Turning my head, I settle my cheek onto my forearms and look at the cat. She’s absorbed in the view, and even the absence of sheep or clouds shaped like other things doesn’t bother her.

I bury my hand in her white fur; the response is a purr, and without exaggeration, it’s my favorite sound. It’s easy to fall asleep to it, nose buried in fur, so by morning it will be everywhere. It makes it impossible to be sad, even when I really want to give in to that temptation.

Out of the corner of my eye, the string lights sway; I shift my gaze to them, to the room, to the walls. I drift. My personal constellations are full of plastic and LED strips, but I like them.

— Where are you looking? — I turn back to Sally. For a couple of seconds I linger on her concentration, but my stomach lets out a howl. And once again, I have to take responsibility for myself. — I hope you didn’t climb the shelves while I was gone?

Even if she did, Seokjin-hyung didn’t rat out the feline crime. He stopped by twice a day, every day, and I can imagine that at first Sally greeted him with trembling hope of seeing me in the doorway—but after a couple of days she got used to it, greeting hyung himself, the one who always gently scratches behind her ear and doesn’t shout if she knocks over the dearly beloved model airplane from Dad’s collection.

In my stomach, hunger and patience are already locked in a brutal fight—I surrender.

First, a glass of water with lemon and ice; at the same time I scatter vegetables around, trying not to cut myself and to fit them into a small bowl. The cake is waiting for me on the low table in front of the couch, where I dropped it in a rush when I finally wanted to say hello to Sally and open the window.

My desire ripens in my mind, fills in with details in my imagination, sprouts in the barren soil of reality. I’ve spoken it aloud hundreds of times—during examinations, on the walk home, hiding it among other thoughts. It’s intimate, even if foolish and desperate, so my hands move faster and faster to bring closer the moment when the candle goes out, hiding my whisper in the half-light of the room.

:

I had dinner, mommy-hyung. Putting my phone on Do Not Disturb—I want to rest.

The report has gone through; in its place comes a countdown. From sixty to forty, while I turn off the lights throughout the apartment, leaving only the string lights. From forty to thirty, while I take out the matches. From thirty to fifteen, while I open the box and set the candle that was thoughtfully included.

The remaining seconds—to strike the match, catch the flickers of fire, let its absurd warmth slip under my skin. It’s unreal, just like my desire, but I persuade myself that it’s all true.

The fire flares—or maybe it’s the LEDs tossing up fantastical images. I’m back in childhood, where birthdays happened even on a hospital bed. Back at New Year’s celebrations, when Seokjin-hyung would invite me over to blow out the holiday candles on a big cake. I’m back in my apartment, which once wasn’t just for Sally and me—it held Mom and Dad too, who refused to accept CHD as the worst possible thing.

I smirk at those memories. It probably comes from them. Scientists, and yet they believed in fairy tales no less than children did. I like those kinds of fairy tales, so I lean closer to the cake, lowering my eyelids.

— I want to feel love. I want my heart to race not from running or elevated pressure in the pulmonary arteries. I want it to beat because I love someone to the point of terror. Let me fall in love and have time to feel what that’s like.

I whisper it like a mantra. Whisper it straight into the flame. Whisper in a rush, as if someone might overhear. Unwanted moisture crowds my eyes, but I don’t even think about stopping. I greedily ask for what I won’t be able to have. I’ve been made perfectly aware that being first in line waiting for a donor is not a good sign. Simply loving has become so difficult… and because of that, unbearably desirable. To madness, to the loss of pulse—though as for the latter, Seokjin-hyung wouldn’t agree, but whatever. At least then I wouldn’t mind.

The candle goes out quickly, carrying away my quiet pleas, granting an illusory hope—and that alone is already a huge breakthrough. Medicine teaches you not to hope in vain.

I blink slowly, letting the darkness pass through me. I try to fully bend this magical moment to my will. It seems even the light in the room has changed—from warm to cold, with bluish reflections from the window. A smile lifts the corners of my mouth; it feels good. There’s something otherworldly in the sound of the wind, in the way plastic stars rub against each other. For a couple of moments it all enchants me, holds me captive.

But it ends when Sally lets out a loud cry, mixing her trademark “meow” with a hiss, and bolts from the window toward the shelves. The shelves she absolutely is not allowed on.

— Sally! — I spring up, lunging toward the window. It’s a difficult choice: save Dad’s model airplane collection or make sure the cat, in her madness, doesn’t fall out the window when she takes another lap at full speed. — Damn it, not by the window!

My fingers grip the frame; I reach to close it, but falter. I need a few moments. My heart breaks into my least favorite rhythm, the blue glow grows thicker around me, and fragments of the news I heard flash through my head.

“I saw a bright light, and then I heard an explosion! It was very scary!”

“The government has established a commission in the event of an incident. We urge citizens not to give in to panic and to trust only official information.”

According to their images, the glow is supposed to explode right outside my window. I count the seconds. I want to curse the cake and the stupid candle.

— Sally? — I shout back, but don’t hear her scrambling. I can’t let go of the window handle, trying to make out at least something before slamming it shut. — Baby, go to the bedroom.

As if cats listen to commands. As if Sally ever has. Fur brushes against my bare leg, my watch emits its first beep as fear paralyzes my limbs. Now there’s no warm light at all—everything is swallowed by a bright blue glare.

I lower my eyelids, count, and picture my street as it used to be. On the ground floor, the little chicken café—one; closer to the intersection, the laundromat—two; across from my windows, the park stretching across several districts—three.

Suddenly it becomes very dark. Too dark even for late evening, even for closed eyes.

— Too… too dark, — I whisper to myself, but an unfamiliar voice sounds in unison with mine.

— Have you ever seen traces of wind on the Moon?

I jerk as if struck by thunder. I absolutely do not expect to see a person sitting on the ledge of my own balcony—but he is there. The blue glow is gone, and I’m staring wide-eyed at the stranger, unable to move, only gulping air with my mouth.

— So, have you seen them?

— There’s no wind on the Moon… — I answer for some reason, playing along instead of calling the police. It’s so strange and incomprehensible that a person is sitting at the level of the thirteenth floor, showing not the slightest concern about it, staring at barely visible stars, that I somehow pull from memory everything my parents ever taught me about space. — There’s no wind and no air.

— Then where do the traces go? — His voice is deep and low, partly thoughtful, though it seems the question was asked casually.

— No… nowhere. That’s the point—they stay on the Moon’s surface for a very long time.

At some point I realize I’m leaning out the window almost to the waist, and the watch isn’t beeping. I’m interested in watching this guy—he’s strangely calm. He sows tranquility with his questions, only to take it away when he turns toward me melancholically, tearing his gaze from the sky. Seokjin-hyung said Garmins are excellent for measuring heart rate, that they read blood oxygen levels, track atrial fibrillation—and it seems all the indicators should be going crazy right now. At the very least, I definitely have an absence of normal breathing. But the watch is silent.

And I’m staring at the stranger, letting my gaze slide over him, studying him. His dark curls sway, yielding to the wind, and I want to shout, “Ha! At least there is wind here!” I feel like an idiot, so I keep quiet—until the beep finally wakes up along with my panic.

— Hey. You’re at the height of the thirteenth floor! — I dive back into the living room myself, rush through it, slamming the window shut. To the bedroom, where the balcony is, where the mysterious guy with questions about lunar footprints is.

I deliberately slow down, for some reason remember the blue glow, and a new wave of fear attacks my body. I should quickly close all the windows, check the locks, finally turn on the hated news channel—but I give in to another force. I hesitate for a couple of moments, but I can’t do otherwise. If you believe the reports, being near the house might be dangerous.

— He-ey… — I stall as I approach the closed balcony door. I don’t rush my words, don’t hurry my steps. I don’t want to scare him. — Can you hear me? It might be dangerous out there. I’m going to open the door now—just don’t fall down, okay?

— I can’t fall, — the stranger smiles, turning his head toward me. — I’m holding on with both hands.

Well, of course… Carefully opening the door, I scan the balcony in case this is some kind of bait, but no. Nothing. Empty. The guy on my balcony is alone. And I feel obligated to help.

— Yes, you’re holding on. Now climb down and come inside so I can close everything. I promise, if you honestly tell me how you ended up on my balcony, I won’t even call the police. But right now, neither of us is safe outside. — I reach out my hand, hoping to steady him, but he shifts over with excessive ease and in a single jump ends up right in front of me.

— There aren’t even black holes here—isn’t that the most dangerous thing and…

The tremor in my hands spreads through my body, blooming into goosebumps. We don’t have time for these questions. Quickly grabbing the guy by the wrist, I pull him into the apartment and close the balcony, locking the handle. I need a couple of minutes… I need to catch my breath. I rest my forehead against the cold glass, and it seems to help a little.

Blinking hard, I notice Sally at my feet. She looks like she’s trying to hide, hovering very close, jerking her head from me to somewhere behind my back—to the stranger.

— So… — I need to start this properly. I turn around, scooping the cat up into my arms. It’s the feeling of safety and protection at once. The same guy stands in front of me, but only now do I notice strange glints on his face that I didn’t see in the darkness outside. — Are you getting ready for Halloween? A bit early… — I try to make it a joke, but I can’t tear my eyes away from his cheeks and cheekbones, dotted with blue crystals of different sizes. Pretty unusual for a guy, but overall—why not. Though even for a holiday rehearsal, the date on the calendar doesn’t fit.

— Halloween?

His tone signals confusion. He tilts his head sideways, toward his shoulder, and studies me in return—sometimes Sally does the same thing. Funny.

— How did you end up on my balcony? Do you need something? — I try not to fall for someone else’s prettiness. The cat’s purring helps my heart rate recover—or maybe it’s the fact that absolutely no danger radiates from the guy. I’m sure of it.

— I just… I knew I’d find a friend here. — The stranger is far too confident.

— Excuse me? — Sally hisses at the same time the shock spills from my lips, and the guy recoils. As if he wasn’t the one just talking about black holes being the scariest thing. As if the most terrifying thing is a cat.

— I was looking for my friend, but apparently he forgot about the meeting. Why is it dangerous out there?

A friend… My family lived in this apartment a very long time ago. It’s unlikely there was anyone else, though maybe he means Seokjin-hyung. I dismiss the thought immediately, because the stranger is looking at me in a special way. Maybe I remind him of his friend? Then he’s definitely not talking about hyung. I step closer, but he flinches when he realizes the cat is still in my arms.

— This is Sally, — I choose my line of response. — She doesn’t bite. I think you scare her more than she scares you. — The guy shakes his head in protest, but I don’t let him get a word in. — We need to turn on the news. Did you see the blue light? Right before I pulled you in from outside.

— Everything here is glowing… — it sounds forlorn.

Setting the cat down on the floor, I want to step toward the guy. Something inside me leads the way, as if it wants to ease his “suffering,” though it’s hard to say which of us is more subject to it. I step forward just as he drops into a crouch in the middle of the bedroom, wraps his arms around his knees, and buries his nose in them. For some reason, I feel forlorn too, and he continues:

— At home there was a lot of light, but here there’s… catastrophically too much. You can’t see anything in the sky.

— Yeah. My mom used to grumble about LED’s too. — The warmth of the memory pierces my heart; I smile. I swallow the lump of sadness, replacing it with happiness, and realize I really don’t want to call the police. There’s something about this guy that awakens a desire in me to help him. He looks lost. — She said she wanted to look at the stars, not at clouds.

— Just like my Rosa. She was picky about clouds too. — His words sink into his own forearms, but they don’t disappear. I’m curious who Rosa is. Maybe if I could get in touch with her, she’d help him. — But I think my Rosa is gone. I haven’t seen her for too long—and even flowers can’t wait forever.

The stranger keeps overtaking me at every turn of the conversation, giving answers in advance, and I get tangled. I don’t understand where this stinging urge to help comes from. Seokjin-hyung always said kindness is my flaw, but I’m not going to change that. In the end, my flaw is far more mundane.

— Do you want some cake? — I ask, moving toward the doorway. Probably my first correct question. It feels that way, because the guy emerges from his “cocoon.”

— Is it white? — childishly, even a little petulant.

— How did you guess? Come on.

Soft footsteps behind me, but I’m not afraid to turn my back on the stranger. The devices monitoring my condition only confirm that. My guide of desire is still there, on the low table across from the couch in the living room. I pass by, through the arched doorway—into the kitchen. Maybe I should light the candle again? Let the guest make a wish of his own, strip the sadness from his face… It feels like something hasn’t been done… like something got lost in the chain of new events.

Grabbing two forks, I turn around, suddenly aware of my mistake.

— What’s your name? — The person across from me freezes in a new position. He reaches toward me with one hand, as if he were about to poke my shoulder blade or spine, maybe wanted to touch my hair. And he doesn’t pull his hand back even when he meets my gaze. — What are you doing?

— I don’t have a name. Once, Rosa gave me one, but on my planet names aren’t used, so I don’t remember it.

My heart noticeably slows, then suddenly leaps up into my throat. The ringing in my ears threatens to sweep away the last scraps of composure I’m clinging to, while the stranger returns to the couch and carelessly sits down on the floor, staring at the slightly melted bento cake.

— On your… — I swallow hard, — planet?

It’s not true. Not true. Not true. My flaw couldn’t have led to me personally letting something unknown into my home. It’s not true.

“Local residents report a bright flash in the sky, followed by a powerful explosion. Police, fire services, and a special army unit have already arrived at the scene.”

— You can give me a name. — He shrugs and looks into my eyes with complete innocence. He’s asking. — You have a name too, right?

— Jimin, — I nod, then immediately stop. — Wait… — A step back. I track Sally’s position so she keeps her distance too. — On your planet?

— Blue light, — he confirms, pointing at the window and outlining it with a weightless gesture.

— Holy shit… — My mind jumps straight to nuclear explosion. To avoiding alien news for so long. To ignoring all my parents’ old stories about their discoveries and other forms of life… To burying myself so deeply in illness, striving so fiercely to overcome it, that I end up letting the very thing I feared into my home with my own hands. Sliding my gaze to the shelf with Dad’s model airplane collection, I feel a stab of betrayal—but I can’t tell whether I’m the traitor, or if I was betrayed by not being told that it was serious, that I should have been paying attention to the world around me.

The wish I made earlier now sounds even more foolish. There’s no way out—but I ask naively anyway:

— You’re joking, right?

I want to hear laughter. I dream of shattering the doubt. I crave hearing the stranger’s name, just so I can curse him and all his generations for this stunt.

— Do I really need a name? — He doesn’t answer my question. He doesn’t laugh. He just lowers his gaze to the cake and whispers, barely audible: — A name is like an echo. It keeps speaking as long as someone remembers you. Will you remember me later?

Panic grips my lungs, the device on my wrist screams like a siren. I need time. I need to catch my breath. I need to take my pills. Do something—anything.

— I… I need the bathroom… — I babble like a child, barely stringing words together over the grating beeping, backing cautiously toward the living room exit. I can’t leave him like this. I can’t—but my breathing falters, setting its own rules. — Sit here, okay? — I catch a nod, find the cat with my eyes, and rasp out an order: — Sally, stay here.

That guy with curly hair and strange crystals on his face, nearly matching the color of his eyes. A guy with a deep voice and the shadow of a geometric smile. Someone who looks like a human… There’s no danger coming from him. Only interest seeps out, a faint sadness, a desire to find the one he was searching for. His fear of the cat looks more than real. I feel all of it, without knowing how—he isn’t dangerous, but the situation is terrifying, scratching under my skin. I’m an idiot and a fool. Not a good-hearted fool—Seokjin-hyung was wrong. I move quietly through my own apartment, measuring each heartbeat with a new step.

— God… — I whisper, clicking the bathroom lock and leaning my back against the door. I feel the cold wood against my shoulder blades, then move on autopilot. Somewhere in the back alleys of memory lie the coordinates of the medication—that’s all I can retrieve from my mind. — Maybe I should call hyung?..

My own question draws a hollow chuckle. I brace my hands on the edges of the sink, hoping to find stability in that, but it’s useless. Seokjin isn’t help—and that guy isn’t dangerous… probably. The picture of the world I paint for myself calms me; I want to believe in it. No—I think it’s not even my idea. It’s Mom’s representation. Hers. She believed that on the fringes of the universe there could be completely different kinds of beings, but like humans, some don’t cause harm or pain. I always thought she was just soothing me on the threshold of discoveries, but now, maybe, I understand what she meant.

And still—I should keep my distance.

— Well… — Back in the living room, I find the stranger in the same spot. Sally has crept a few cautious paw-steps closer; they’re staring at each other warily, and I give in. I give in, adjusting my plan just a little. — A name… I’m not sure I can give you one. I don’t know you.

— But without a name, you won’t know me. Then how are we supposed to meet and become friends? — His voice carries notes of disappointment. My reaction is strange—careful, not quite right. Something itches in my chest, but no longer physically. In front of me is an alien. In front of me is a guy who curls back into a cocoon of arms and legs, hugging himself again, speaking more softly: — Rosa once said that every name is a small star. And if you know a person’s name, you know where it shines. Don’t you want to know?

For some reason, I do—I don’t lie to myself.

— I do, — I confirm out loud, stamping my honesty in place. My step forward is almost a white flag. — Then… maybe Jinyeong?

He slips out of his “shell,” looks interested at first, then twists his geometric lips, showing displeasure.

— No. Those sounds are like the hum of the emptiness of space.

I hum wordlessly. I think. I think, think… It’s the first time I’ve heard what something so distant is supposed to sound like. My gaze drifts to the window—there, in the blackness of the settled night, constellations are visible. Astonishing. I wait, as if the cosmic vastness might offer a hint—something that would fit perfectly. For a second, it even seems as though I really hear it, as if the right letters and their combinations break through from the depths of my consciousness. I draw someone else’s fate with my own voice, give it form, temper it.

— Then maybe Taehyung? — the name resonates with me; I say it without a trace of doubt. It lifts naturally from my lips, settles in the alien’s attentive ears. I’m almost certain something whispered this name to me, but I pass it off as my own invention, desperately wanting to see his smile.

— Taehyung… — he savors the aftertaste of the name on his tongue. Tests it, thoughtfully rubbing the crystals on his cheekbone with his fingertips. And after a few moments, he finally smiles. — Taehyung… I like it.

— Good. — I mirror his reaction. I answer it honestly, because suddenly I feel warmth—but I can’t allow myself a long weakness. — So. I’m Jimin, you’re Taehyung, the cat is Sally.

I don’t understand how I’m supposed to talk to him. What I’m trying to do feels foolish… He talks about the Moon, stars, the light of our planet compared to his own—and I listen. I listen closely, cautiously sitting down beside him and offering one fork. At the very least, I’ll have someone to share this completely “non-working” cake with. If nothing else. It’s contradictory, but his words touch something inside me; there’s far more sense in them than it might seem.

Licking the fork clean of white frosting, I sink into my thoughts, rewind to the beginning of our conversation. Traces of wind on the Moon now sound like a metaphor to me; I dive deeper into the semantics of words, tear into the soil beneath them.

— Of course… — I whisper, interrupting Taehyung, who doesn’t even notice, while everything suddenly becomes clear to me. Traces on the Moon—something imperceptible, yet tangible for memory, for the mark that experience leaves on the soul. He tricked me, but contrary to logic, a smile crawls out of hiding again.

Part of me even regrets that I can help him so little. Sally’s hiss pulls me back to reality, where an alien is sitting on the floor of my living room, sharing cake with me. An alien who came looking for a friend and found only a frightened, useless version of me, with heart-rate readings off the charts.

— Hey, Taehyung… — I think I interrupted him, but no apology forms on my tongue. — I’ll help you, okay? I’ll take you somewhere they can give you a temporary home.

His hand moves. Freezes dangerously close to mine on the floor. I bite my lip to keep from saying anything unnecessary—my phone already has addresses of shelters saved in its history. It’s the best option. The right option. Taehyung doesn’t touch me, but every cell of my skin seems to react to the minimal distance between our hands.

His gaze is full of focus and confusion with a faint trace of hurt, but I think he understands. For some reason, I’m sure of it.

— And I can’t stay here? — Long fingers tap against the carpet, the sound distracting. I’m making the right choice, even if my teeth are already shredding the dry skin of my lips. Even if the urge to hold my breath is almost unbearable. Taehyung leans closer, nearly nose-to-nose with me, and only then can I fully see the color of his eyes, be sure that they hold a reflection of the eternal. A cast of the cosmos.

His gaze darts around the room behind me, and he whispers conspiratorially:

— Is it because Sally is scary?

— You… and Sally are better off staying apart. — I nod, even though it sounds like complete nonsense, but I can’t find better words anyway. — That’s right.

— Will you come there, Jimin? — There’s hope and friendliness in the question; it’s hard to cut myself off from them. As if I’ve known Taehyung for far too long, even though at most an hour has passed over cake.

— O-of course.

He stands first. Straightens up, tugs at his denim shirt, offers me his hand to help me up—and refusing is impossible. There’s a tight knot of regret in my throat, a taste of betrayal of an almost-stranger on my tongue, but it’s the right choice. I’m almost sure of it. Even despite how warmly and trustingly his large hand closes around mine.

I give a promise that’s dangerous to keep; that I don’t plan to keep at all. Taehyung is an alien. I’m a human with a congenital heart defect. We’re better off staying away from each other.

— If you come, that sounds good, — he smiles, sowing a nasty bitterness under my palate, but we’re already moving confidently toward the apartment exit.

Toward the place where I’ll leave him—and, I hope, never see him again.

— Will you say goodbye to Sally? — The joke doesn’t soften the lie. It only makes it worse, because Taehyung wrinkles his nose in an almost comical way, looking around for the cat.

My heart skips several beats. I brace myself for the first beep and want to drown it out with the loud turn of the key in the stairwell lock. There’s a much safer place for Taehyung, where he’ll be taken care of.

I’m sure of it.

Chapter 2: II

The whirlpool of insomnia tangles my mind again. It’s hard to tell where shallow drowsiness ends and where fantasies and other realities of my imagination begin. I need sleep; I need to let my body rest. But with each day after that very meeting, things only get worse—I keep telling myself this isn’t shame, and not remorse. Not pangs of conscience.

I simply feel worse. The air circulates inside me less and less, shortness of breath outweighs calm inhales, and the swelling in my legs only confirms my thoughts.

I keep telling myself I did everything right.

This is the fourth night without proper sleep. I see the statistics on the watch I never take off—the picture is bleak. Ever since I took Taehyung to the homeless support center, where he was placed in a nearby foundation house as a person who had lost all his belongings, it feels like I can hear him. I catch a voice I remember surprisingly well; I see ripples of blue light in the darkness beyond the balcony door; I feel the longing of his gaze on me.

I convince myself I did more than enough: I didn’t tell anyone who he really is. But feeling like a hero because of that would clearly be too much. Rolling onto my other side, I grab my phone from the nightstand. I want to text Seokjin-hyung that I can’t sleep, that I need additional medication, that I...

I exhale the madness pounding against my chest in a jagged rhythm and lock the screen.

The decision ripens in my inflamed mind, wrapping its tentacles around every corner of my thoughts. I’m crucified on my own bed, arms spread wide. With my fingertips, I feel Sally, whom my insomnia has disturbed more than once already, and I comb through her fur. This is supposed to calm me—my new point of persuasion. I shift onto my side again, closer to the cat, closer to warmth and approval in the form of purring.

In the long-awaited sleep, I see myriads of stars. Not the plastic ones in my apartment, not even the ones in the sky. In the shimmer of fantasy, they feel close—at arm’s length—and near my ear sound words so much like something only Taehyung could say…

“When you give someone your name, you give them a part of yourself.”

He definitely never said that out loud, but my mind keeps tossing up new combinations of words that make me think even there, even in sleep.

Waking becomes a new starting point. A wet nose presses into my cheek, fishes me out of other galaxies, from beneath the sky hanging right over my crown.

“Goo-d morning, Sally…” I mumble, stumbling over the letters with my sleepiness.

It’s already eleven on my phone—probably a record for the last five days. There’s little time; I’m rushing again. I need to soothe my conscience, silence it, give the voice in my head reasons to believe that I still know how to keep promises.

***

“Wait… Why can’t you give me the address?” Notes creep into my voice, ones I use so rarely… I — indignation; I — irritation; I — incomprehension.

There are differences from my first visit to this place… Beyond the obvious — Taehyung is not standing beside me — an unfriendly list of points lights up: first — no one smiles at me; second — they don’t want to help; third — even the registration desk for arrivals feels like an impenetrable wall. When Taehyung and I came here together, everything looked different. Sweet smiles, sympathetic looks, assistance… I am not their target audience; there’s no need to fawn over me, but the refusal to share information about where “my acquaintance” was sent feels like a declaration of war.

The girl with smudged eyeshadow speaks with irritation, provocatively. She doesn’t understand what I promised… I don’t understand myself why I’m pushing this hard, but I vitally need to see Taehyung.

“I didn’t dump him like an unwanted kitten to be put down, for God’s sake!” I shout. This tone and volume are almost unfamiliar to me, but I can’t help it. “I can’t just take a person home, it’s against the law! And you… you look like kidnappers who handed a person over for experiments!”

She gulps air with her lips, goes silent — and that gives me pleasure. The clatter of the keyboard buys me a minute of respite; only now do I notice that my pulse has shot up too high. Another beep. Behind Choi Yuna — I finally manage to read the name on the badge, a name I will hate for the next twenty-four hours — there’s a large mirror, and I sink into the reflection where a barely familiar person is hiding. It’s me — undeniably me — but the fierce determination in my eyes is completely uncharacteristic. In my thoughts, I refuse to identify Taehyung as an alien. I refuse to call him anything other than the name I gave him myself — it humanizes him, it gives me at least some grounds not to consider myself a deranged, insane idiot chasing a mirage and a fabrication.

On the first day, I thought maybe I imagined it; that it was the aftermath of being in the hospital; that I was so tired of having no company but Seokjin-hyung that I invented a philosophizing acquaintance. But Sally stared at the balcony far too suspiciously — and still does — and the cake was most definitely not eaten by me alone. And, of course, the most important proof is that Choi Yuna irritably hands me a slip of paper with the address where Taehyung was taken for temporary housing.

“For the future,” she adds gruffly, “if a person has someone who can help them, we usually don’t get involved.”

She turns away, and I suppress a wave of anger. Get involved. That’s how she sums up helping those in need, those left with nothing at all. Get involved. It doesn’t matter that Taehyung has nothing to lose in the first place — a knot of hatred swells in my throat, but I swallow it as I burst out onto the street.

My body itches with irritation. It feels like the sweater is pricking my skin hard enough to leave marks, but that’s as illusory as the aftertaste of a fleeting victory over the dubious system of distributing people within these foundations. Checking the navigator on my phone, I plot a route — twenty-seven minutes on foot — and still open my messages. Seokjin-hyung’s silence is unsettling; he’s far too consistent in his worry to be quiet for no reason.

:

How’s your conference? I’m going to take a walk.

The unobtrusive autumn wind knocks down the nervous itch, but I don’t have time to enjoy it — a reply comes almost immediately, its notification cutting across part of the map on my screen.

Seokjin-hyung:

Glad you asked! I managed to talk about you with a couple of doctors, and they recommended an assisting team. You won’t believe it, but the lead assisting nurse knew your mom! Incredible, right?

My treatment has been his fixation for far too long now…
I want to slip my hand under the collar of my sweater, trace my neck with my nails, scrape the anxiety off my skin. Instead of imagining Taehyung’s reaction and expression in the moment when, after several days of breaking my promise, I will still stand in front of him — I sink into thoughts of Seokjin-hyung. They’re safe. They’re an old ache and a memory that no longer itch as sharply.

There are thirteen years between us, but no chasm. Back then, he was entering medical school — passionate, young, burning with medicine and everything connected to it. It was also then, after meeting seven-year-old me, that he fixed his specialty in his mind once and for all: cardiac surgery. It’s hard to say how things unfolded into what they are now. Hyung is obsessed with the idea of being the one who gives me a transplant; the one who sees, with his own eyes, a healthy, beating heart inside my chest. Even after five years as a practicing cardiac surgeon, he oversees every examination my cardiologist orders and seems to be there every single time. He says it’s a tribute to my parents, who once helped him find his path. Says it’s an unspoken promise. When I turned nineteen and chose digital design as my field of study, Seokjin-hyung smiled and said, “Good choice. Just enjoy creating whatever it is you want to create.”

Maybe I wasn’t the only one who thought that creating worlds and characters would, in some way, immortalize me. Back then — as now — I didn’t hold much hope for a long life; it’s an attempt I’ve simply been lucky with so far. And even though my parents “left” me, I know I carried some of their traits into a couple of virtual realities the team worked on — the team that hired me while I was still in my final years at university, despite all the risks.

Seokjin-hyung’s message doesn’t disturb my memories of Mom and Dad; it only answers with warmth — because there are still people who remember them, just as we do.

Ever since I was handed a recipient’s pager, since the attending physician gave a sad smile and said, “A rare blood type, Jimin-ssi, but everything will be fine — a donor will be found,” hyung hasn’t stopped trying to assemble the medical team in advance for the surgery he will most certainly perform himself.

:

A lot of people knew them. That’s wonderful, hyung. I hope you’re enjoying more than just that at the conference :)

The slight coolness on my fingertips doesn’t bother me — most of the twenty-seven-minute walk is already behind me, and I can no longer afford to be distracted by my older friend. I know I’ll soon see Taehyung, whom I recklessly left alone. That gnaws at me more than the September weather, jumping from warmth to chill.

Five more minutes. A few more meters. An eternity of worry.

Pulling open the heavy door of the house, whose residents are funded by yet another city program, I exhale loudly. No matter how small the distance I’ve covered, I’m glad I allowed myself to bring some order to my thoughts. The shortness of breath is only a minor obstacle to my own honesty.

On the crumpled paper, the number of the assigned room is scribbled in uneven handwriting, and with each step up the stairs and along the corridors, my heart beats faster, threatening to scream my presence into the remarkable silence of the building. Perhaps everyone here is busy with community work; perhaps it’s lunchtime, and I won’t find Taehyung here after all; perhaps fate itself is merciful and keeps the crowds of strangers living here at bay. Room “506” on the fifth floor is already so close, yet my mental rehearsal collapses into the whirlpool of my thoughts.

The door I need swings open faster than I can knock.

“You came, little fox!” Taehyung’s smile frames his lips. He holds the door wide open, panting, scanning me with a gaze that holds not a trace of disappointment.

“Why… little fox?” His words are hard to understand. Maybe he’ll explain, or maybe I’ll realize later, just as I did with the traces on the Moon. He steps aside, letting me enter the small room, furnished only with a bed and a nightstand, and keeps smiling. I respond in kind, taking off my shoes and finally sitting on the bed without asking.

“Sorry I didn’t come right away…”

The mattress creaks under his landing beside me. Taehyung climbs onto the bed, legs crossed in a lotus pose, knees spread, fidgeting impatiently, and makes no attempt to hide when he reaches toward my hair, messing up a few strands.

“I didn’t notice at first how many days had passed… The main sir and I took quite a while to reach a common decision on matters of chaos and order, but then they showed me a couple of films about the nature of Earth.” His blue eyes radiate focus. He seems to be recalling everything he tried so hard to remember. Lowering his hand for a second, he lifts it again to his face, finding the tiny crystals and tracing them with his fingertips.

“Foxes are wise animals. A good person, like a fox, is sensitive to the world around them, notices what others overlook, knows when to help the weak. They may seem independent, but they are always loyal to those they love. They will protect them to the end. I think you, like a fox, saw something good in me.” The smile slides from his face, but doesn’t fade into sadness. It’s something else. A hope for friendship, flickering deep in his eyes. Taehyung crawls closer to me, lowering his voice:

“Foxes know that not everyone who comes to them carries friendship in their heart. They need time to understand that this is not just another hunter. That’s why… when I realized that all of this reminded me of you, I decided that you simply needed time.”

“I…”  I’m confused, frozen by what I’ve heard. Taehyung endows me with immodest qualities and a kind of dignity. I want to be honest with him. “I got scared, Taehyung. The news keeps talking about an invasion of Earth that could happen at any moment. My parents studied space and other galaxies… Your appearance is something I wasn’t prepared for.”

“I think I understand,” he whispers thoughtfully, resting his palms against his own ankles. “But I am the second fox, Jimin. I’m not a hunter. On my planet, I was not permitted to be either one, but here I want to be like you.”

I laugh. Kindly. Serenely. He amuses me with his simplicity, with how he says exactly what’s on his mind. There’s nothing frightening or ominous in his thoughts, nothing fatal. Here, in this tiny room on the fifth floor, it feels unusually easy to believe that my fear has nothing to do with reality.

 “And what’s the plan, second fox?” I cover the lock of his hands with my own, and it feels as though чужие impulses race through my body. Warmth spreads gradually: fingertips, wrist, forearm. Everything rushes toward my chest, but I carefully pull away, not entirely certain of the nature of this sensation. No matter how open Taehyung seems, he is still not human, and I can’t stay close until I know his purpose. “Do you need to get home? Learn as much about Earth as possible?”

 “I…” he mirrors my speech, pauses, thinks, weighs his words. “I won’t get home, and about Earth I want to know as much as it’s willing to tell me. For now, I just want to feel what I feel, to be friends with you.”

 “Friends?”

He’s too open. His words don’t carry falsehood, don’t strike with lies, but I haven’t heard such straightforward invitations to friendship since early childhood. Like when you’re sitting on the carpet in a nursery and your mom brings someone else’s child, assigning you a shared fate for two, foretelling trust and bonds between you — and you surrender to that decision. You find yourself a friend.

“Can’t we?” Taehyung leans back the moment he asks it. He props himself up with his palms on the bed behind him and shifts his gaze to the ceiling. Without his intent scrutiny, thinking comes easier, and now it seems to me that my question might have hurt him. Maybe he imagined everything very differently. Maybe, for him, our friendship began in the very first second of our first conversation.

 “Then you’ll have to tell me much more about yourself — and listen to my annoying stories in return.” Now it’s my turn to move closer. I shift nearer, letting my knees rest against his legs, and restrain myself from flinching when Taehyung meets my gaze again, which had been wandering over his relaxed face. I keep talking, quickly: “Learn as much about me as you can remember. Never hurt me. Accept my help and do the same for me. Though… that part will be easier, because… because I don’t often need help, honestly. But I like walking, and sometimes it’s hard for me to walk alone for too long.”

“Then… will you go for a walk with me, little fox?” he asks with open curiosity, and all I can do is nod in response.

I let go of the questions about why Taehyung cannot return home. I set aside the things he was not allowed to be on his native planet. What that place even is. I want to grasp this chance to talk to someone who is unfamiliar with the illnesses of our world, who does not crumble into pity the moment he hears my diagnosis. I want to try at least this, before disappearing for good.

I’m not sure it’s allowed—but we run away.

I grab Taehyung’s denim shirt from the nightstand and rush for the door. I want air, I want freedom; I want to hear an alien tell his own stories carried on our wind. I nudge his sneakers toward him and pull on my own, not bothering with the laces. He catches my frenzy instantly. His laughter draws attention, but I didn’t see a single person on the way here, so I just listen to the way it spills and rings. It’s hard—very soon my watch will start beeping, another reminder of how fleeting time is, and in defiance of that I don’t want to lose a single second.

“Can I take your hand?” I ask, then falter at once. Taehyung looks at me in confusion, goes quiet in the middle of his joy, and chews on his lower lip. “I mean… what if… it’s not allowed?”

“Let’s go, little fox.”
His shirt is only half on, hanging off his elbows, but neither of us cares. Taehyung smiles and, grabbing my hand, bolts out of the room first.

Running is not good for my health. It’s not measured physical exertion; not activity supervised by a doctor who could monitor me in real time. I don’t care. The steps that pressed down on me when I climbed up earlier go unnoticed now—Taehyung pulls us downward, laughing, not watching his footing at all. I don’t want to look around either. I add my own laughter to the trill of his and think that this strange encounter might be exactly what I’ve needed for a long time.

Doctors say that a congenital heart defect does not always require a transplant. They perform surgical correction early in childhood. They insist on regular visits to a pediatric cardiologist to monitor heart function—later transferring you to a cardiologist who follows CHD in adults. They say you can build social connections, strengthen them, grow attached to people; that you have nothing to fear… But by twenty-five, the rapid development of complications, despite correction, locks you inside yourself. Transplantation becomes the priority option once medication and surgery are exhausted as means and can no longer effectively control progressive heart failure. I know this. I know that the pager in my pocket is supposed to beep one day, delighting Seokjin-hyung, who is a billion percent certain that the donor organ will “take,” that my immune system won’t fail me…

I wish I were certain too.

But those thoughts have occupied most of my life.
Now, beside Taehyung, I run as fast as I can allow myself to; I don’t let him speed up too much, tugging his hand back toward me when we need to slow down; I crave discovering the other side of life and understand with painful clarity that I can do that by showing Taehyung the kinder face of human existence. He wanted to be friends with me—I don’t know why it had to be me, but I have no intention of refusing.

“W-wait… I—I… fuh—”
I slip out of his grip to brace my hands against my knees, folding forward at the waist. The ringing in my ears drowns out the howl of my watch, and I’m glad I can’t hear it. “Were you planning to run all the way to the edge of Seoul?”

His hand settles between my shoulder blades—warm. Along with that comes the awareness of my own clammy skin, the sheen of sweat. I’m amused by how weak I am next to him, how much smaller I am in every sense.

“Let’s sit.”
I scan the park, which we seem to have reached the middle of while running as if chased. I turn, searching for a spot, when Taehyung simply drops onto the grass at my feet. I straighten. “Yes. Right here is fine. This is a great spot, Taehyung.”

“I’m glad you like it.”
He pats the grass, beckoning me over. I give in.

“It’s not bad,” I nod toward a line of trees forming a kind of corridor not far from us. “In a couple of hours we’ll see the sun set there. It should be beautiful.”

Taehyung is absorbed. He greedily takes in the still-empty sky with his eyes, as if expecting the sunset to appear already, and I quietly break the image by shaking my head and placing my hand over his where it rests on the grass.

“All right. Chaos and order. Your planet. How old are you, and how do you even measure age? How did you get to Earth?”
My stream of questions claims the space between us. I lean in slightly, looking into his eyes, and see my own curiosity reflected there. It feels like Taehyung would gladly ask me all the same things. My heart flutters in my chest… I feel it so clearly, yet the devices remain silent. Maybe this is what they call embarrassment. “And… how do you like your new temporary home?”

“There are no fewer rules there than on my planet,” Taehyung says sadly, lowering his gaze to our hands. “I asked the sir who’s in charge whether that place is a prison. ‘Don’t climb. Don’t touch. Don’t go,’ and he said it’s order, that without it everything around would turn into chaos.”

“But sometimes chaos… isn’t so bad?”

The thought spills out of me on its own. I remember my mother, who understood the chaos of space; I remember my father, for whom order and chaos among different elements were always equally important. I don’t have time to sink too deeply into it—Taehyung suddenly yelps and laces our fingers together.

“Exactly!”
He shakes our joined hands in the air, a mischievous smile blooming on his lips. Taehyung licks his lips, and I can’t stop watching.
“But he was so outraged. He said everything would fall apart, that his life’s work would be ruined. It just seems to me, little fox, that sometimes you can build something new from what’s been destroyed. Something beautiful.”

“He didn’t agree with you?”

“No.”
Taehyung smirks, turning his gaze back to the sky.
“He said the best things are born only from order and control. I had to convince him.”

“Convince him?”

I don’t understand. Foundations, helping people — those are systems. Everything there is supposed to be logical. I don’t understand how Taehyung could have convinced him, or why he even needed to.

“Well… it’s simple.”
He catches my eyes again, looking at me intently now, persuading me instead.
“Do roses grow along a ruler’s line? Are the stars arranged in strict order? Maybe true beauty is born where rules end.”

“But rules are necessary too, Taehyung,” I say, lecturing him despite myself, even though I don’t want to. My inner adult pushes forward, chest puffed out. There’s far more sense in his words than it might seem, but belief in lists and regulations is stitched too deeply into my bones.
“They protect us. Sometimes even from ourselves.”

“Maybe.”
Taehyung lets go of my hand and drops back, burying his spine in the grass. His face isn’t touched by worry; he’s simply sharing his quiet truth, one he has no intention of giving up. He raises an index finger and points at the still-empty sky, revealing a new secret to me.
“But sometimes rules bind us, keep us from flying to the stars. It’s important to find a balance between order and freedom. After all, the most important rules are the ones we set for ourselves. The rules of our conscience.”

He’s right. About everything. All I can do is nod, asking quietly what the man said in response. Truthfully, I already know the answer of a typical man running a charitable-business venture. It’s unlikely to surprise me — but everything here is new for Taehyung, and I want to feel it the way he does. As if these were my sensations. As if I were learning how to live this life.

“He laughed,” Taehyung says, shrugging faintly as he pulls me toward him. He makes me lie down beside him, level with him, so now we’re lying next to each other, our heads turned to face one another. For a second he grows serious and repeats, word for word, someone else’s lesson, clearly memorized exactly.
“Then he handed me a sheet with his rules and said that sometime this month some foundation workers would come and help me with my documents.”

I jerk upright.

They can’t make documents for Taehyung.
He was never born on Earth. He’s never been examined, never received medical care as a child or as an adult. He never studied, never worked. In our system of coordinates, he doesn’t exist — even his name was given to him by me.

My pulse spikes in sync with my body. I sit there on the grass, frantically trying to come up with ways to solve what’s unfolding. My gaze darts along the horizon; I thrash around inside myself.

This is my fault.
I… shouldn’t have…
I didn’t tell anyone about Taehyung — but I was the one who brought him to a place where he would inevitably be noticed.

I…

“Little fox? Why is your hand beeping?”

He sits level with me. Lowers his hands onto my shoulders, squeezing them. He’s trying to give me a calm I don’t deserve. It feels like I’ve already broken my own rules of conscience.

“Jimin?..”

Taehyung moves. Crawls on his knees, stopping right in front of me. Through the haze of tears gathering in my eyes, I can barely see him, but the glint of the blue crystals is unmistakable—I follow it. The beeping seems to slow, just like my breathing. His warm gaze meets mine; warm palms cup my icy cheeks—his steady breaths tame my chaotic ones. Organize them. Set new rules.

“They’re watches,” I whisper, returning to our shared orbit. “They measure my body’s vitals.” His touch is so calming. I can’t make myself pull away. I don’t want to. “I’m not… healthy, Taehyung. Maybe you should have found someone better prepared to meet someone like you. Someone who could tell you more, show you more. Someone who doesn’t risk dying suddenly and leaving you behind.”

“I know you wouldn’t just disappear, Little fox. Your mechanisms just don’t know how to work properly. Your heart is too big.” Taehyung squeezes my cheeks between his palms and laughs—carefree, honest, real.

The watch stops beeping. I’m disoriented.

“I… what?” I mumble, unable to decide what to cling to first, but my conscience cuts ahead of everything else. “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry, Taehyung. I think I set you up. You understand you can’t get documents if you don’t want to be discovered, right?”

“But you already discovered me.”

Maybe I don’t fit very well into the modern world. For decades now, science—led by astrobiologists and radio astronomers—has been searching for proof of theories built on signals pulled from the blackness of space. They study how planets form from protoplanetary disks around stars; the cycling of elements between atmosphere and crust; possible energy sources that could sustain life. Huge teams analyze light reflected from distant planets, hunt for new radio signals, wait for exoplanets to appear in telescopes. Before the explosion in the lab, my parents were doing the same thing.

I can’t be sure, but I suspect they hoped for a medical breakthrough after the discovery and study of new worlds and life forms. I’m afraid that such a breakthrough could hurt Taehyung. Afraid that, unlike my parents, the rest of their team was obsessively driven in the most ordinary way. I remember my mother saying that we are only guests in a vast system of ordered chaos; that we must not cause harm; that one day, perhaps, we would all face a difficult choice.

I don’t know if my time for a difficult choice has come. I’m no longer sure I did everything right.

“Yes. You’re right, but…” I free myself from his hands, unable to look into those blue eyes full of curiosity and confusion. Where are the beeps of the heart monitors when I need them so badly, to give me a chance to escape this uncomfortable reality? “Damn. You said that foxes help when they know it’s necessary, right?” Our knees bump against each other; we’re still facing one another. I catch his confident nod, his smile, his trust. “I can’t explain why I helped. It was the right thing. But I should have told someone about you. I should have at least contacted the scientists I know… At least told them.” A heavy sigh shatters my words. I did everything wrong… “But I didn’t call anyone. My parents were scientists. And if they were alive, they would have helped you. I would have trusted their fairness. But I can’t speak for the rest. I’ve seen this system from the inside, and it scares me even more than trying to help you on my own.”

The confession spills out with the bile of self-pity.

I feel useless. It hurts that Taehyung may have found the wrong fox to help him. It hurts that I don’t understand a damn thing about how to handle this. I close my eyelids, wanting to hide from this responsibility. I can’t bear to imagine Taehyung standing up and leaving, taking with him the carefreeness and lightness. Warmth.

“So you did everything right, Jimin. The rest… is just a new ordered chaos.” I open my eyes, soaking in the kindness at the corners of his lips. Taehyung is uncharted for me. Unknown, but warming my heart. He absorbs my attention, my heaviness, my uncertainty in my own steps.. Seconds flow from one to the next. He raises a hand, and I wait… wait for something… And Taehyung presses his index finger to the tip of my nose and laughs wholeheartedly, sowing a new joy among the ashes of my worries. “It’s okay. The sir said that the foundation workers come once a month to process all the arrivals in the temporary home. We have time.”

“And what if you want to fly back to your planet?”

What if this is all a mirage that will vanish?

“I can’t. I told you.”

What if, hearing about his world, I stop believing in my own?

Epsilon-7. That’s the first thing Taehyung says, carrying me into memories of his home planet. He thoughtfully traces the crystals on his cheeks again, trying to tell it vividly, but I get the sense that the brightest thing there was him himself.

No oceans, only a few kilometers of wind-polished stones, divided into perfect squares. No chance, no surprises, no organic chaos to make the world alive. Probably it’s the melancholy tone in Taehyung’s voice that makes me drift back, back tens of minutes, when he shared how he argued with the sir from the foundation… I want to tell him that chaos is beautiful. I want to tell him he’s right.

On his planet, there are no names. No place for feelings. No room for admiration.

They call themselves the Collective Mind. All inhabitants of Epsilon-7 are a single organism, bound together by the ties of pure logic. Our scientists would probably have squealed with delight while I sink beside Taehyung… His world is a chain of debates, measurements, the nature of creation. Everyday life consists of discussions on quantum mechanics, the metaphysics of time, the consciousness of nature. Each conversation is flawless, logical, yet utterly devoid of emotion. There is no individuality, no ego to interfere with the collective. Watching Taehyung, recalling the little I’ve managed to learn about him, I am not even surprised when he speaks of having broken the strict rhythm of his planet.

He asks the “wrong” questions, his judgments alive and emotional. Living, human.

“Why debate beauty if you do not think of it?”
“Why all these formulas if they will bring you no joy?”

His questions caused confusion, then irritation. The Collective Mind could not find a logical explanation for them. Taehyung merely hints that his “rebellious nature” was attributed to the legacy of an explorer’s fraction.

He describes how vibrations concentrate planetary energy, from which they all emerge, crystallizing it into sentience. In a few words, he lists the external traits of his race, then draws a new distinguishing line: the crystals on his face are not the norm. Epsilon-7’s inhabitants are geometrical in their features, consistent in expression; their gazes hold wisdom and, at the same time, the void of feeling. The Collective Mind has no scattering of stones on its cheeks—everything is ordered, precise. Three gray stones on each side, one at the hairline. Seven in total, in contrast to the numerous blue ones on Taehyung’s cheekbones and cheeks.

He pauses for a moment, but does not break his story. I am completely absorbed, feeling how hard each word must be for him. Perhaps he wasn’t lonely, perhaps there is something else he is not yet ready to speak of, yet I understand how difficult it can be to pull the truth from one’s heart.

Unconsciously, I reach toward Taehyung, tracing the constellations between the blue crystals with my fingers. I want to erase the melancholy from his memory, want his chaos to continue, to keep creating beauty around us. Inside my mind.

Taehyung smiles. Again. Lightly, sensually, pouring waves of warmth into the fleeting shift of his expression that wash over me in return.

He had been labeled “emotionally unstable”, “disrupting the harmony of the collective consciousness.”

I fidget, unable to sit still — it’s all so unfair. I want to scream, to reach distant Epsilon‑7, to jab at their illogic, to tear their judgments to shreds. Instead, I shift closer, pull Taehyung back down onto the grass, make him lie down and look at the lilac streaks of the sky.

He was exiled.

I wonder whether he will ever be able to return, but I don’t ask. I think his knowledge would be enough to devise a way, yet I don’t want to push him toward those thoughts. They don’t deserve them.

I trace my fingers along his palm, searching for words, but I don’t interrupt. Taehyung has never before been wrapped in sadness for so long in my presence. On Epsilon‑7, there is no place for tenderness — yet he knows it. On his planet, there is no language of feelings — yet Taehyung wields them skillfully, juggling human sensations within himself. I could have deceived myself all my life, believing that a perfect mind is beautiful; believing in the limitless potential of scientists and ever‑new discoveries. But a perfect mind is powerless before trembling and emotion. If a heartbeat not driven by healthy physiology is considered useless, then I’m glad Taehyung ended up beside me. Because he doesn’t think so.

“Sunset, little fox,” Taehyung says, interrupting himself. He squeezes my fingers, stopping their movement along his skin.

The lilac sky burns with twilight shades. It outruns time itself, showing the two of us something painfully beautiful in the chaos of clouds. I try to remember the last time I felt so inspired, the last time the beeping of my wrist indicators didn’t pull me away from the flow of life — and I can’t.

“How old are you? You do have age, right? You must come into existence at some point…” With my question, we return to Earth‑bound discussions. I think I should tell Taehyung how socialization works in my world. How peers find common ground, maybe even run him through an MBTI test just for fun. I want to teach him something of mine — something familiar to me.

“If we convert our measurements to Earth terms, I’m twenty‑five.” Turning his head, Taehyung ends up startlingly close to my nose. Thump‑thump‑thump. That’s my heart, but this rhythm is unfamiliar. “We’re the same age, then? That matters to you, doesn’t it?”

“Yes… yes!” Taehyung ruins my attempt to explain something about Earth, but it doesn’t upset me. I think it even simplifies things, in a way. A shared line among countless parallels.

“It would be nice to watch the stars together,” he draws out dreamily, turning back toward the sky. “You probably think I feel betrayed, but even if that were true, it wouldn’t take the beauty away from the cosmos.”

I know it’s already late. I know there are rules in the house where Taehyung is living for now. They don’t help those who can’t be helped — but I don’t want to say goodbye yet. The sunset outlines our borrowed time, points to its transience, to obligations.

“What do you think,” I whisper conspiratorially, waiting — and instantly receiving his interest, “If I invite you to stay over at my place and spend the night on my balcony watching the stars — you can see them much better in my neighborhood — will the sir scold us and point out that we’re breaking the rules?”

“Sometimes, to see the stars, you have to climb over the fence. And sometimes — break it,” Taehyung whispers back, rising to his feet and pulling me up with him. The familiar smile settles on his geometric lips. It feels like we’re becoming accomplices in rule‑breaking. “His number is on the list of rules. It would be logical to use it — if you allow me.”

I nod.

I nod again and again. Like a bobblehead, like a dashboard dog.

I want to see the stars through his eyes.