Chapter Text

Once upon a time, there was a boy who swallowed a star. 

What comes next in the story isn’t so certain, and there are an infinite number of endings— but that is indisputably the beginning. 

There was a boy who fell for a fallen star. His name was Kim Sunoo. 

❅

Present day: [Sector EN-918] — Suwon-si, South Korea

(THE END OF THE BEGINNING)

On the eighth of December, Park Sunghoon is born as a mortal for the first time in his life. Outside, the first snow of winter kisses the streets. 

He’s something of a miracle child, born to a husband and wife who struggled for a long time to conceive. He’s quiet both as an infant and a toddler, and calmer than most. He cries little, raising his voice rarely. Even in his earliest years, he seems to understand manners without having to be taught them, exuding a calm composure that most parents would be envious of. 

Serene as he is on the outside, his mind is a more complex thing than appearances would indicate. With every year that passes by, he gains a new layer of implicit knowledge, a deeper understanding of who he is and what he’s meant to do. 

The framework is all laid out for him; all that’s left to do is follow it, to trace the path until the branching point. 

Sunghoon makes a name for himself in the rink. He trains for hours each day, nursing bruised shins and ice shattered elbows. Local, then state competitions, performances that make him someone known and rooted for. 

He executes the plot effortlessly, playing his role to perfection. All the while, he lives in anticipation, awaiting that pivotal moment where he’ll finally reach his chance. 

And then it comes. 

❅

[Guardian Sphere]

(A DECISION)

There are very few things Sunghoon would risk getting cast into the ninth circle of hell for, and murdering Park Jongseong is slowly but surely creeping into that list. 

“No. Absolutely not.” 

“Sunghoon—“

“I’m in retirement.” He crosses his arms stubbornly. “You can’t call me back to work.” 

Jay sighs heavily. “You do know that your “retirement” only lasts as long as these intermediate periods, right? He’s back. He always comes back.”

Sunghoon closes his eyes. It’s been two years since the end of the last reincarnation, though time passes differently for them here. It’s felt both like an eternity, and like the span of a blink. Not long enough. It’ll never be long enough before he has to meet Kim Sunoo again. 

Each failure is like a new raw wound on his body, never to close, never to heal. Sunghoon hasn’t been whole in a long time. Each timeline unravels another piece of him, until he’s finally become nothing more than a frayed thread. 

“I don’t want anything to do with him anymore,” he tells Jay shakily, not meaning a single word. “It’s been too long, Jongseong. Hasn’t it been long enough? Haven’t I done enough?” His voice carries a note of pleading— for what, he doesn’t know. His partner doesn’t create the rules, only enforces them. 

Jay’s face is impassive. “He’s your charge, Sunghoon. There is nobody else.” 

“And I’m telling you that I don’t want it anymore, I don’t want any of it,” he blurts. “Why can’t I just let him die?”  

Even just speaking the words makes him feel like rot. It tastes foul on his tongue; a weak lie, stinking of death. And while it is inevitably the end result, each and every time, to stand back and let it happen would be akin to torture. He’s never been able to do nothing, and yet his everything yields no result. 

Sunghoon meets a boy. He falls in love. Then Sunoo is lost to him. 

Any repetitive cycle grows tiresome, but this one wears away at his very soul, his very sanity. There are pieces of him left behind in every world, like hidden artifacts. Sunghoon isn’t sure how much of himself is still left to carry into the next. 

“You don’t mean that,” Jay says calmly. “He’s your responsibility, and you know it.”

And Sunghoon does know it, though he doesn’t know why. Sunoo is his charge, his responsibility, his punishment. His punishment for a sin he can’t remember, his fall from grace. 

Kim Sunoo, the boy who ran after immortality. For a selfish cause, of course, but not the common one. Not for glory. He’s simply a mortal who had made a foolish mistake, bound to a Guardian who’d made an unpardonable one. Sunoo is locked into an unhappy cycle of reincarnation, retribution for his greed. And now they’re inextricably bound together, till death do them part: again, and again, and again. 

“How can I keep on going when I only continue to fail?” Sunghoon whispers. 

Jay looks at him steadily. “How can you not?” 

He feels the rest of his energy sap from his body. He lets his head slump forward, raking his hands through his hair. He can’t pretend like this has caught him by surprise, not when the routine has become so ingrained in his body.

It’s all he’s ever able to think about— pouring over every possible scenario, every possible strategy, every possible thing he could have done differently. How many lifetimes, how many iterations has he been through by now? Countless. Each one hurts more than the last. All because of one foolish mortal whose dreams couldn’t be contained within a single universe. 

He’s doomed to fail. This much he knows. He’s doomed to fail as a Guardian, as a protector to the human he’s been assigned to save. Which leaves only one solution. 

It’s a last resort, and the most difficult choice to make for entities like them. For Sunghoon, it’s the easiest. 

“I know how to make it stop,” he says softly. “But this will be the last time.”

Jay frowns. “What are you saying?” 

“I’m tired, Jongseong,” he answers. “This is the last one. I’ve served my sentence, and now I’m surrendering.” 

Jay’s face contorts as he realizes what he’s implying. “Hoon…” 

“We don’t know what I did,” Sunghoon mutters. “Maybe it was unforgivable. I don’t know. I don’t care anymore. This is it.” 

Jay’s face goes blank, his eyes awash in blistering cold. It’s a touchy subject, Sunghoon’s transgression. They’ve joked about it for ages, made it the subject of petty arguments and fights. It’s something that hovers over Sunghoon’s head, a dark cloud of unknown origin. 

But no matter how much they try to make light of it, it doesn’t erase the gravity of the situation. Whatever he did wasn’t bad enough to forsake him for, but was severe enough to warrant eternal punishment. It’s a fine line, and Sunghoon has dreamed up infinite explanations. 

Jay moves towards him, his brow creased with something complex. He reaches forward; Sunghoon leans into him. Like always, he feels the cool hands at his temples, the sizzle of something sharp and charged with energy. Jay has always been the one to send him off, and this time is no different. It will also be the last. 

“Last chance,” Jay whispers, his thumb brushing circles at the corner of Sunghoon’s eye. To his surprise, it comes away wet. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

“It’s never been about what I want to do. It’s about what I need.” 

Jay fixes him with a long, searching look. Then he nods solemnly. “Close your eyes,” he instructs. “Picture the kind of world you want to live in. The life you want to have.” 

Sunghoon looks at him in surprise, but obeys. “I’ve never been able to choose before,” he muses under his breath. 

“Consider it a parting gift. Can you see it?” 

A singular image flashes behind his lids. Nothing concrete; merely a concept, an idea. The hope of a single promise, finally fulfilled. 

“I see it,” Sunghoon says, opening his eyes. He’s taken aback by the expression he sees on Jay’s face: surprisingly tender, bordering on mourning. 

“Somehow, I always knew it would come to this,” the other boy murmurs. “From the very beginning.” 

Sunghoon frowns in confusion. “From the beginning? What do you mean?” 

“Put your mind at ease, Sunghoon,” Jay tells him gently, disregarding his questions. His forefinger applies light pressure to Sunghoon’s temple. 

You’ll see him soon.

There’s an electric shock at the base of his spine, a spark of a memory buried beneath layers of sediment. It penetrates his bones, infusing with his marrow. It feels like a million little candle flames are dancing throughout him, spreading their tickling warmth. 

Recognition floods his senses. It’s almost as though he’s been here before, though he’s confident he hasn’t. Jay’s downturned mouth, the grief buried in his heart— they all feel like landmarks of a long forgotten dream. 

His vision starts to grow fuzzy, flares of light flashing at his periphery. He tries to open his mouth, but finds he is unable to speak, unable to think. The last thing he sees is Jay’s face swimming before his eyes, before his body is engulfed with blistering pain. 

He had expected as much, but nothing could have prepared him for the reality of it. He can feel the life force draining from him, millennia upon millennia leaking from his body like sand through a sieve. Ichor churns through his veins, galaxies spinning his mind into a blackhole of knowledge. 

Everything that he is, reduced and compressed into one single, final life. He keeps his memories, his pain. His love. Sunghoon is exactly as Sunghoon was, save for one crucial thing. 

The pain transforms him, carrying his body away from their realm, scattering his stardust soul amongst the universe. Eventually, he will drift back together, fully formed, born anew. Sunghoon will come to be again, born into his last chance. And when he is, he’ll come into whichever world he’s flung into exactly as he’ll eventually leave it—

As a human. 

❅

(AN INTRODUCTION)

Sunghoon is met with endless questions and concerned voices, left and right. Is he sure that he’s doing the right thing? Does he really want to give up a path he’s been on for so long, only to embark on another, completely foreign one?

The answer, simply, is yes. 

Training at Belift is different from training at the rink. Warmer, for one. Less lonely, with the other trainees working their asses off right alongside him. The practice room is humid with sweat, the bathroom stalls noisy with tears of frustration. 

It’s more daunting now too. This is his first time being fully human, after all, so social skills are something he still needs to grow into. He doesn’t have the same confidence to fall back on, generated by the security that he doesn’t have his own fate to be determined by.

Now, everything is all different. Nothing is set in stone. He’s been given the outline up to a certain point, but he still has to work for it, unlike the other alter egos he’s fallen into as seamlessly as donning a masquerade mask. 

For all these reasons and more, he expects this to be the most difficult iteration yet. Not because of the world, but because of his own mortality. He’s all on his own, with nobody to rely on but himself. 

Loneliness— what more human experience is there than that? 

***

—  Hey stupid. 

The words penetrate his mind without coming from his own consciousness, the voice they’re spoken in eerily familiar. Sunghoon freezes in place, then hears the footsteps approaching on the carpeted floor behind him. He turns. 

“What the fuck,” Sunghoon blinks. “What are you doing here?” 

“Long time, no see.” Jay grins widely. “You’re not the only one trying to make it big.” 

Sunghoon stares. “Cut the shit,” he says. “You did not come down to Earth just to become a fucking idol.” 

The boy steps forward, resting a hand on his shoulder. “Sunghoon, now that you’re a human, I see you almost like my own child,” Jay says gravely, giving him a little pat. “I couldn’t let you do this alone. Of course I had to wait a bit, you know, ‘cause I’m not about to be seen hanging out with a five year old, omniscient or not.” 

Sunghoon has never seen Jay in this form before— dressed down in a hoodie and sweats, overgrown hair hanging in his eyes. A clunky silver watch sits on his wrist, incongruous with the rest of his outfit. He looks utterly, ridiculously mundane. 

“First of all,” Sunghoon begins crossly, “don’t call me your child ever again. Second of all, I wasn’t an omniscient kid.” 

His head is swimming, trying to process. Jay has never accompanied him to a world before, ever. The sight of him is jarring, bringing shock, confusion… relief. He can’t help but admit it to himself. Seeing Jay here feels like a breath of air, like a sign of salvation. 

“Third of all—” he cuts himself off, looking at Jay’s expectant face with a sigh. “It’s good to have you here,” he confesses meekly. 

Jay claps him hard on the back, his eyes lighting up. “That’s the spirit,” he exclaims. “Now tell me— what was it like being a baby?” 

Sunghoon shoots him a withering glare, reconsidering all his previous sentiments. “You better shut up before I send you back to where you came from, one way or another.” 

***

Heeseung is there too. It’s no longer a surprise, though the sight of a new version of him never fails to stop Sunghoon in his tracks. He never knows what to expect— not that he ever does when it comes to Sunoo either, but Heeseung is even more volatile. Harder to read. 

They train for years together, growing closer. He already knows Jay like the back of his hand— at least the parts that the boy allows him to see. Heeseung, however, is a novelty. It’s never happened like this—  the chance to form a deeper relationship with him far before he ever has the chance to lay eyes on Sunoo. 

When the moment finally comes, he’s not ready for it. Skill-wise, he’s prepared, having spent long hours of practice with Heeseung and Jay, pushing himself the way he did on the ice until his muscles are screaming and his legs are ready to give out. 

To say that Sunghoon isn’t thrilled with the idea of being on television would be an understatement. The whole purpose of his existence has always been to remain discreet; to only interact when needed, and otherwise draw as little attention to himself as possible. He’s broken that rule for Sunoo time and time again. Now, the transgression is simply on a grander— more global— scale. 

They greet each other as they enter the building one unit at a time. Sunghoon and Jay are already seated by the time Heeseung finally arrives, and the boy makes a beeline to sit beside them amongst mutters of awed admiration. Familiar faces are a small source of comfort here, for all of them. 

“Sunghoon-ah,” Heeseung exhales fondly, the sound reminiscent of someone stepping into their home after a long while away. 

Meanwhile, Sunghoon’s heart is a jumpy, cautious animal. It’s always inevitable for the two of them to have some sort of relationship. Intimate on all counts, if not amicable. He can distantly recall nine separate times where Heeseung has tried to kill him, though they all tend to blur together. Thankfully, he’s not the type to hold grudges. 

The contestants continue to filter in. Their faces swim by, few registering in his brain. And then it’s him. Sunghoon has caught only brief glimpses of him until now, during their profile photoshoots. But now he’s up close, striding in with an excited beam. When he performs, everything else fades away. When it comes time to vote, Sunghoon’s hand goes up without a second thought. 

Once they’re thrown into the thick of things, swept up in the constant stress of the fast-paced missions, there’s little opportunity to interact. They’re constantly separated, week after week. When they finally come together again, Sunghoon is hesitant. 

He doesn’t know what to make of this Sunoo at first. Each iteration adds another layer upon the previous one— Sunoo upon Sunoo upon Sunoo, like the layers of a matryoshka doll. 

This one is more soft spoken than some, less bloodlust than others. Brief beams of confidence shine through a timid exterior, and when the boy thinks nobody is looking, he allows a sardonic gleam to adorn his eye. 

He’s right there, just within reach. Which only leaves Sunghoon with just one problem: he does not have the faintest clue how to go about talking to cute boys. 

Sure, he has built relationships with Sunoo in the past. But a great deal of those were formed out of necessity, under dire circumstances. And while they are on a survival show, and tensions are high, these are hardly “impending doom” type conditions. 

Surprisingly, it’s Sunoo that approaches him first. 

“Hi,” the boy says shyly, materializing at his side. With the water running, and his head in the clouds, Sunghoon hadn’t even heard him coming. He blinks rapidly, almost dropping the dish in his hands. 

“Me?”

“…Yes.” Sunoo looks nervous, a slight pink tint to his cheeks. 

Sunghoon clears his throat, resuming his washing. He’s pictured this conversation a hundred different ways, and none of them have involved him being clad in hot pink rubber gloves. Trying his best to act casual, he deepens his voice as he replies with a simple, “Hello.” 

Sunoo doesn’t appear deterred by his awkwardness. “I just wanted to say…” He twists his hands together, looking downwards shyly. “Well, ever since I saw you, I wanted to tell you how handsome you are.” 

Sunghoon feels lightheaded. When he speaks, he can only pray that he doesn’t sound like someone on the brink of collapse. “Thank you.” 

“Have you gotten close with anyone here yet?” Sunoo asks curiously, eyes sparkling as he glances around.

“I guess so,” Sunghoon says, wracking his brain. “Jake and I get along well.”

“What do you like about him?”

Has conversation always been this hard? Why do people ask so many questions?

“He’s cute,” Sunghoon blurts. He proceeds to instantly regret his life. 

“I’m cuter,” Sunoo says perkily, chin tipping upwards in a brief surge of confidence. Sunghoon sees the moment it reaches its precipice, teetering at the edge, on the brink of collapse. And before he can think about it, before he can install a proper brain to mouth filter, he says—

“You are.” 

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he can feel Jay rolling his eyes. In front of him, Sunoo’s mouth drops open. 

“Oh,” the boy utters. He looks speechless, and Sunghoon can only hope that he’s said the right thing. He sees a small opening, a cracked window of opportunity. He grabs hold of it, widening the gap while it’s still within reach. 

“I’d like to be close with you too,” Sunghoon gulps. “If that’s okay.” 

He’d run through a million different possibilities in his mind; he’d considered laughing off what he’d just said, considered lapsing into an awkward and uncomfortable silence. But Sunoo’s eyes are shining, and Sunghoon thinks that the risk was well worth it.  

“Yes,” the boy breathes. “That’s more than okay.” 

❅

(A QUESTION)

Between one half of their fate and the next, lies a reprieve. It’s not a complete vacation, as there’s still things to be done, but it certainly comes close to feeling like one. For starters, not every second of every hour is being documented on camera for the world to see. For now, there’s no performance waiting for them at the end of the week, no grueling practice sessions with elimination looming over the horizon. 

They’ve made it this far, and though the next big cut is coming up, Sunghoon isn’t terribly worried. He came here to debut, and he will. As for Sunoo— well, the boy has received no shortage of admiration from the public, and it isn’t difficult to see why. 

Sunoo is a neat roommate, and a reasonably quiet one, though Sunghoon could attribute this to the fact that they aren’t particularly close yet. Sunoo goes to bed reasonably early, and listens to music on the iPad until he falls asleep, usually without a word. There’s evening chatter, usually commentary on the day’s activities, or a detailed account of what he’d eaten for dinner. But once his internal curfew hits, he settles into himself, lost in his own little bubble.

But not tonight. Tonight the window is cracked open to let some of the summer air in, and maybe it’s the warmth of the room, or the pressure on their shoulders, or pure, visceral loneliness that loosens tongues. Maybe it’s the absence of the cameras in the room, the knowledge that they’re not being watched, that they can be themselves in their rawest, most unfiltered form with only each other to be judged by.

“Hyung.” 

Sunghoon startles, not used to being spoken to at this hour. Usually Sunoo is fast asleep by now, curled on his side facing the wall. 

“Yeah?”

“Are you afraid?” 

Sunghoon doesn’t have to ask for clarification. He’s also aware that Sunoo already has the answer. They’re all afraid, there’s no question about it. It doesn’t need to be said, doesn’t need to be confirmed. This is nothing more than small talk, an outstretched hand searching for another that trembles with the same fear. 

They’ve barely talked. They’ve barely bonded. And they both already know that they’re afraid. But it’s a terribly lonely thing to be afraid alone. 

“You shouldn’t worry, Sunoo-yah,” he murmurs. His voice is low, muted with slight embarrassment. He’s been vulnerable with Sunoo before, but not this Sunoo. Every iteration is a different challenge, new obstacles to overcome before he can tell the boy the things he truly wants to say without lowering his eyes. “You’ve done well.” 

“Not well enough.” 

And there it is, the elephant in the room. The flawed structure of the show, the reinforcement of insecurities based off of an arbitrary vote. Sunoo still vigilantly maintains his smile like its just another part of his daily routine, but Sunghoon knows that he hasn’t been unaffected. 

“You can’t care what other people think,” Sunghoon says. “Not in this kind of environment. Everyone is in it for themselves, and love you or hate you, they’ll still see you as a threat.” 

“I’ve never wanted to be a threat,” Sunoo says quietly. “I just want to be here.” 

“Sometimes they go hand in hand.”

“I thought Heeseung hyung hated me at first, you know,” the boy mentions suddenly, laughing under his breath. “It was all a silly misunderstanding, but I realized people’s faces can deceive you. And it made me wonder.”

“About what?”

“Whether there are people who smile at you, and secretly want to see you fail.”

Sunghoon sucks in a breath. “It’s hard to hear, but I think most people here are like that. Not out of malice, but purely to secure their own place.” 

“I know,” Sunoo says. “I’m not naive. I understand that. But I’m selfish, hyung, and I don’t like being hated.” 

“For what it’s worth,” Sunghoon mumbles, “I don’t hate you at all.” 

Sunoo looks at him sideways, an appraising glint in his eye. “You know something? I honestly really just wanted to be close to you because I thought you were handsome,” he remarks. “You looked a bit like a prince.” Sunoo is looking at him directly; none of the shyness he’d worn when he’d first approached him, no stutter to his words. 

Sunghoon knows what Sunoo looks like when he’s interested, when he’s smitten, when he’s in love. He’s known Sunoo so many times that the boy is practically transparent to him— and what he sees now is a giant flashing arrow, firmly redirecting Sunghoon from “Person of Interest” to “The Friend Zone.” Déjà vu floods his system. 

“But you’re not what I thought you’d be,” Sunoo continues thoughtfully. “You’re easy to talk to, I mean. You’re nice.”

Sunghoon forces a tight smile, and dies a little inside. “Thanks.” 

Sunoo smiles back. “Can I tell you a kind of personal worry of mine?” 

“Yeah,” he says earnestly. “You can tell me whatever.” 

“Sometimes I think about what it would be like, after. I mean, we all have things we’ve had to give up to be here, but have you ever thought of what we’ll have to give up if we finally make it?” 

“Like what?” 

Sunoo purses his mouth. “Have you ever been in love before?”

The question takes him a bit by surprise. “Yes,” he answers easily, once he’s recovered his wits. “Have you?” 

Sunoo hums, thinking. “No, I don’t think so. Not for real, at least.” 

“What do you mean?”

“Like… I don’t know, I have dreams. Nothing weird,” Sunoo is quick to add. “But there’s this stranger. Except he’s not a stranger, and I don’t know his face or his name or who he is, but I have dreams where I fall in love with him, over and over again. Is that weird?”

Sunghoon’s heart skips a beat. He quickly schools his features, tilting his head in pretend consideration. “Yeah.” 

“Yah!” Sunoo whines, his skull thumping against the headboard. “I confided in you, you’re not allowed to make fun of me.”

“I’m not making fun of you,” Sunghoon says truthfully. “It’s weird, but I get it.” When he sees the skepticism still remaining on Sunoo’s face, he takes a deep breath and bites the bullet. “There’s this story my grandmother told me once. About love.” 

Sunoo’s eyebrows raise, and now he looks intrigued. “You should tell it to me,” he says, cracking a smile. “As a bedtime story.”  

“The goddess of sky fell in love with the god of the earth,” he begins, as Sunoo shifts around to get comfortable. “She yearned but couldn’t reach for him. Realizing the inevitable, she scattered herself through the clouds and fell as snow, knowing that once she touched the ground, she’d be no more. That she’d melt into the Earth and finally be one with her love.” 

If Sunghoon closes his eyes, he can almost feel himself there again; snow on skin, red on white. He pushes away the memory with a shudder. 

“There seems to be a message here,” Sunoo says with a small smile. “Something about how we fall for the ones we know will be the end of us.”

“Or maybe it’s a zany tale told by a senile, elderly woman.” 

Sunoo lets out a startled noise, half gasp, half affronted laughter. “Yah,” he splutters. “What’s wrong with you?” 

Sunghoon shrugs, something ballooning in his chest. “Don’t think too hard about it.”

But Sunoo seems to do just that, staring at the ceiling for a while before rolling over to stare at him intently. “When was the first time?”

“The first?” Sunghoon echoes, confused. 

“Your first love,” Sunoo clarifies, nodding. “What was it like?”

“Oh,” he utters dumbly. 

And now he realizes what Sunoo is asking, understands what kind of answer he seeks. But nothing in Sunghoon’s life has ever been so straightforward, nor any of his other million ones. 

First love. He shouldn’t have been capable of it. It’s not who he is, not what he was created to feel. Duty, yes. But love? For someone like him, loving is a fluke. A chance event, an improbability. And yet, it had happened.

The first time, the first life. The first mission that kickstarted the chain of realities, the accordion of worlds across which his soul had become inextricably bound to Kim Sunoo’s. He remembers it, and wishes that he doesn’t. 

He had failed. With Sunoo, he was always bound to fail. 

“Sunghoon?” The boy’s brow is furrowed. He’s been silent for too long, too contemplative. There’s history in that silence, and Sunoo has heard it. 

“It was a long time ago,” Sunghoon finally answers. His smile is crooked, his breath shallow as he delivers the understatement of the century. “It didn’t work out.” 

❅

Past life profile: [Sector RTY-273] — Kingdom; Meliora

(THE BEGINNING OF THE END)

When Sunghoon integrates, he’s standing on the cobbled stones of a palace courtyard. He takes a moment to inhale deeply, the winter air soothing his senses. His breath takes shape as it leaves his mouth, a frail ghost that lingers, then dissipates. After taking a few seconds to steady himself, he looks around, absorbing his new surroundings. 

The castle towers before him, elegant and imposing. The turrets are frosted with white, necklaces of ice fringing every window. Servants bustle to and fro, ducking in and out of doorways, disappearing beneath looming arches. 

Every part of the kingdom— from the palace, to the pavement, to the numerous villages of cylindrical huts out in the countryside— are built from a dusky lavender brickwork, each shingle smooth and marbled with shimmering white vein. Vines threaded with pale colored blossoms lace their way up every wall, perfuming the air with a faint, floral essence. 

Sunghoon closes his eyes and extends his perception; past the walls of the inner kingdom, into the surrounding hills, lakes, forests of trees and flowers and birds in colors and shapes he’s never seen. He’s made a ritual of doing this at each new beginning. The land is easier to understand than the people, and there’s nothing more beautiful and thrilling than mapping out the geometry of a new world. 

He recalls the debriefing Jongseong had given him: Kim Sunoo, a young mortal boy who had made a deal. A unique case, the nature of which will probably plague him for the rest of eternity. He hadn’t gotten many details, probably because Jay simply enjoys making his life harder than it needs to be. 

All he knows is that this boy had one idea of immortality in his head, and had sold his soul for another. Wishes made on a falling star can’t be undone, and the trade Sunoo had made is one that each iteration of himself will likely have no memory of. At present, Sunghoon knows nothing of the type of person this boy is. 

With every mortal he’s assigned as guardian to, he’s given a simple framework, an outline of the path the human is destined for. It’s his job to maintain that path and to protect his assignment's life until it’s run its due course. With this special case, however, he’s received landmarks, but no route. 

He knows that Sunoo is a prince, but does not know if he will live to rule, if he will abdicate his throne, if he will throw his kingdom into turmoil. Sunghoon has simply been thrust in blindly, with no instructions other than to try his damndest to preserve a hopeless fate. 

“Aren’t you the prince’s new night guard?” 

Sunghoon turns around. The source of the voice is a boy around his age, if his towering height and baby face average themselves out. His white blonde hair flops loosely into his eyes, a pair of thick-rimmed spectacles haphazardly perched on his nose. He smells, oddly, of burnt sugar. 

“Um… yes?” He quickly forces himself to fully assume the role he has to play. Sunghoon clears his throat, smoothing down the front of his uniform. “Yes, I am.” 

“I can take you to his highness’ chambers,” the boy offers brightly. “If you’re lost. This entrance here is to the opposite wing.” 

Sunghoon almost turns him down. It’s not that he can’t find his way. After all, his instincts are finely honed to guide him to whichever destination he needs to arrive to. In any case, it’s still early evening, and the sun sets late here. The sky is still shaded with pink, and he has at least an hour more before he needs to report for duty. 

But the boy looks genuine and eager to be of use, so he agrees to be led through throngs of people, through gilded arches and up winding staircases. From the swiftness with which he navigates the castle, Sunghoon deduces that he must be a servant, prone to coming and going through here on the daily. 

The castle feels surprisingly empty, or at least this section of it. Only a few people come and go, carrying neatly folded piles of clothes. One girl passes by with a large, silver tray in her arms, the dishes upon it clean save for some scattered crumbs. 

“It’s lonelier inside than outside,” Sunghoon murmurs without thinking. 

“The East wing is for the Prince only,” his guide explains. “And for staff, of course.” He looks at Sunghoon thoughtfully, as if wondering at his ignorance. “Did you only just get promoted recently?” 

“Something like that.” 

They finally come to a stop in front of the entrance to a large chamber, enclosed by ceiling high, marble double doors. Gold filigree winds across the surface, trailing delicate curlicues and figure eights.

“Sunshine,” the boy sings out, knocking brazenly with one fist. “Open up.”

Sunghoon hasn’t been here very long, but he contains enough contextual knowledge of the world to be appalled by the insubordination of this mere palace servant. The door opens with a loud creak. The sound grates at Sunghoon’s nerves, and he suppresses a wince. 

“What is it, Soobin?” The voice slides through the narrow gap, light and airy. “It’s late.” 

Sunghoon’s first realization is that he had never asked for the boy’s name. His second realization, is that the prince and this boy must have a close enough relationship to warrant the boldness, as well as the first name basis. 

“You should really have someone oil your hinges,” Soobin tells him brightly. “And your new night watch is here.” 

The door opens all the way. 

Sunghoon is struck still. He doesn’t know what he was expecting the boy to look like. An idiot, maybe, given his unfortunate, but entirely avoidable circumstances (not that this Sunoo has any recollection of the fumbles of his past life). 

“What happened to the last one, anyway?”

“He got too attached,” Sunoo replies dryly. “Heeseung requested that he be relocated.” 

Soobin snorts. “‘Course he did.” 

Sunghoon barely registers the two of them speaking. His eyes are fixed straight ahead, examining the mortal he’ll be saddled with for the rest of the foreseeable future. 

To put it simply, Sunoo looks nothing like a fool, and everything like something out of a fairytale. For a moment, Sunghoon even wonders if Jongseong had screwed up and accidentally integrated him into a fantasy world. But no, this kingdom is zero magic and all plain old monarchy, with fancy castles and gratuitous lace as the cherry on top. He plucks at the collar of his uniform, the fabric scraping against his neck. 

Hair made of night, eyes of sun, skin of moonlight. The prince looks like a marble carving, like an oil painting, all sculpted angles met with blurred brush strokes. His expression is haughty but regal, his posture indicative of unblemished confidence. 

He looks immovable, unshakeable. As though the walls of the castle itself could come tumbling down, the palace disintegrating into rubble, and Sunoo would still remain standing in place, his head held high. 

In later chapters, Sunghoon will look upon this moment as the beginning of the end, the end of the beginning. Everything starts and concludes within this singular snapshot image, preserved in memory like a stained glass silhouette in the window of a cathedral. 

He’s not in love yet. He can’t possibly be, not when he’s never felt such an earth-shattering, human emotion before. But the boy is beautiful, and the heart that’s been assigned to his chest is shattering and replenishing itself with every shudder, and Sunghoon has never felt smaller in his life.

“Are you… Sunoo?” he asks weakly, trying to ground himself on the planet once again. Beside him, Soobin looks dumbstruck. A valid reaction, to what ranks among the stupidest questions Sunghoon has ever asked. But he needs to make sure. He needs it to be real. 

“Kim Sunoo,” the boy corrects, lifting his chin. “Prince Kim Sunoo.” 

Silence lapses between the trio. Outside, a storm has picked up, providing the ambience of a blizzard. The cold wind pounds against the castle stones, a flurry of white peppering the window and floating to the ground like dust. In some many hundreds of lifetimes later, a boy will ask Sunghoon how he fell in love. 

The answer: like snow.