Chapter Text
“Shh, little one,” murmured Megan, sighing at the child. It was obvious that the girl couldn’t stay still.
“Come here. Sit in my lap.” She gathered the small girl into her arms, settling comfortably on the bed. The little one made a displeased noise, looking around for something, her lip trembling. Megan sighed again.
“You’ve lost your fox plush again? Where could it be?” Her eyes roved around the room, taking in the mess of toys.
“Ah, right there. Next to the cat one. You can bring both of them.” The little girl slowly made her way off the bed, picking up both plushies carefully and cradling them in her arms. When she reached the bed again, Megan helped her up.
“Your mother will be home in a few days,” she whispered. Dark brown eyes stared up into hers, sleepy and reminiscent of something that made Megan’s heart twist in her chest.
“Promise?” The girl asked sleepily, curling into her side.
Megan smiled gently. “Yes, I promise.”
“Now,” she said, pulling out a worn notebook from under the pillow,
“Let me tell you a story.”
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She wasn’t sure when she gained consciousness. Maybe the heat awoke her, the flames of warmth engulfing her being. Not burning, simply present. There.
It occurred to her that the orange light she was seeing was behind something. Small muscles contracted as the lids over her eyes slowly opened, unveiling her vision. The sight stole the air from her new lungs.
A vast expanse of glimmering lights among a dark background, stretching on into the distance. Stars. The name seemed to form out of nowhere. She turned to see another being, made up of this darkness and the stars, two bright ones glimmering where eyes should be.
Do you know why you are here? A voice inside her mind said, clear tones chiming, and she realized it was the deity speaking to her. They tilted their head, eyes boring into hers.
“No,” she spoke aloud, and her own voice sounded strange, sharp tones cutting out into the void. She winced. The deity seemed unfazed.
You are here for one main purpose, they spoke. To go wherever you are needed.
She finally took the moment to observe herself. She was in the same form as the deity, except wherever there was darkness she was flame, orange waves flickering under the skin on her hands. Her hair seemed to be made of the fire too, ginger with shimmers of gold. A golden robe covered her body, the feel soft and silky. She didn’t quite know what her eyes looked like.
“What am I?” She asked, voice echoing.
For this assignment, you are the sun spirit, the deity murmured. 美曜. Měi Yào. Responsible for making sure that every part of the earth is covered by your rays at some point during the day.
Měi Yào spun around, weightless, feeling the warmth at her back. There was a giant star behind her, glowing orange, gold, flickering red occasionally. It was magnificent. She reached out experimentally, feeling the entire thing shift, moving in the direction she turned her hand in. Sun. The gravity shifted slightly, aligning perfectly with the smaller orbs. Planets. The first few names flitted into her mind. Mercury. Venus. Mars. Earth.
There is another part to this, hummed the deity. You are to be paired with another spirit. 月澈. Yuè Chè.
Měi Yào frowned, looking around. Another spirit? Someone else helping her do the same job? She opened her mouth to speak. The deity raised their hand, motioning for her to wait.
She is the spirit of the moon. You two will work in harmony. The deity gestured to the small planet that Měi Yào assumed was Earth, a deep blue color with large patches of green. If she looked even closer, she could see something small and gray orbiting the earth, pale in all of its nature. Something told her that that was what the deity called Moon. Now, if Měi Yào looked even closer, she could see a lone figure, also floating weightless. The deity extended their hand out towards the figure, some unknown force pulling her up to their level.
Měi Yào had to admit that Yuè Chè was stunning. Her eyes were narrow, thoughtful, pools dark as night. Her hair flowed down her shoulders in long, flowing waves, dark as the abyss all around them, stars sparkling gently in her hair. Her hands were slender and pale, the skin tinted with a silver glow. She also had a robe, silver and with the same kind of smoothness as hers. There was a crescent in the center, and when Měi Yào looked down at her own robe, she saw the same kind of symbol depicting the sun.
“Nice to meet you,” the spirit said, her voice matter-of-fact. “I understand we’ve been assigned to each other.” Měi Yào nodded, barely registering her words. She was still in awe of her partner, her appearance, demeanor, everything about her. Something warm bubbled up in her, a weird feeling that she didn’t have a name for yet.
“Same to you,” she murmured, cringing again at the sound of her own voice. This would get some getting used to. Existing.
Now that you two are acquainted with each other, the deity said, you can begin your assignments. Měi Yào. You will bring light to the earth for a total of 5200 rotations of the Earth around the sun. Yuè Chè. You will bring the moon through its phases for the same amount of time.
“How long is each rotation?” Yuè Chè asked, her voice lilting.
365 earth-rotations, they chimed.
“And what happens after our time is up?”
The deity shrugged in response.
You get reassigned. Some other place where you are needed. Another pair will take your place.
With that, Měi Yào watched the deity turn and slowly start pulling away from the pair. “Where are you going?” she asked.
I have other things to attend to. Simply said, the words seemed to float out into the air. It occurred to Měi Yào to ask a question.
“What are you called?”
The deity paused, turning around once more. Their eyes flitted over Měi Yào and Yuè Chè, something unreadable swirling inside the two stars.
I am everything.
And with that, the deity was gone, and Měi Yào was left, hovering there with Yuè Chè.
Because Měi Yào didn’t know what else to do, she focused her attention on the sun again, shifting it, changing its pace every now and then. Speeding its rotation up, slowing it down. She looked at the planet that the deity had called Earth. It was moving very, very slowly. Měi Yào didn’t know how she was going to get through 520 rotations of this.
She was curious, and she wanted to know how any of this worked, so she pushed off into the expanse— which her thoughts had now called Night— and tried to go forward until she couldn’t see the sun or the rest of the planets anymore. It didn’t take long before she found herself right next to the golden heat again, flames lashing out as if they were displeased with her. It really did look like she was stuck here, turning the sun, for these next 5200 rotations. Had a full one even passed? Měi Yào sighed. This was going to take a long, long time. She looked over towards Yuè Chè, who had retreated back to the moon.
It looked like the other spirit was just staring at Earth from her spot next to the moon, gazing at it with a wistful expression in her eyes. Měi Yào wanted to know why she looked like she wanted to be on that small planet so badly. She wanted to ask, even moved forward a bit, then hesitated. Should she…? It would make sense, after all. This was the spirit she had been paired with for all the assignments that would come after, for all of eternity. They should probably get to know each other.
With a deep breath, she pushed off from her space next to the sun, checking to see if it was still rotating properly, and moved to Yuè Chè’s side, peering at Earth from next to her. Her vision adjusted, and she realized that she was able to zoom in on parts of the deep blue and green planet.
Finally, she knew why Yuè Chè looked so wistful.
Earth was beautiful.
There were things that were big and tall and green and alive, and Měi Yào could feel the current of something flowing through them, something that connected them all at what her intuition told her were roots. Things small and alive scampered through wide open expanses of land, the big green and multicolored patches that were not the blue, which was called ocean. All things seemed to pulse in time with each other. Měi Yào pressed a palm to her own chest. She could feel the pulsing, too.
There were figures moving about on almost every corner of the land, bearing remarkable resemblance to her and Yuè Chè, just without the same luminosity. Their skin was in many different shades, and their features were also varied. In one part of the planet, Měi Yào saw them with the same color hair as her, fiery and golden. In another, there were the same kind of creatures with long black hair, strikingly reminiscent of Yuè Chè’s.
“Wow,” whispered Měi Yào, eyes roaming over everything that this small planet had to offer. There were groups of these little creatures, smaller ones and bigger ones, the littler ones running around and getting into all sorts of trouble. Měi Yào watched a figure press its mouth to the mouth of another figure, and her face burned.
“I hope we’re assigned there one day,” murmured Yuè Chè, and Měi Yào turned her gaze to the spirit next to her. She watched Yuè Chè reach her hand out, almost longingly. Měi Yào had already known that Yuè Chè was truly beautiful, but she looked even more so, in this moment.
Her dark eyes were filled with emotion, and she had pulled her hand back to fidget with the strands of her hair. I’m glad I was paired with her, Měi Yào thought. Yuè Chè’s statement still ringing in her mind, she replied softly,
“I hope so too.”
Earth moved slowly, so insanely slow that when Měi Yào just stayed in one place and stared at it, it never seemed to move any faster. There was barely anything to do to occupy her time, besides spin her fingers and make sure that the sun spun the way it was supposed to. For fun, she named some stars close by, drawing invisible lines from one to another to make different kinds of shapes. Crab. Two fish. A hunter.
She watched Yuè Chè, too.
The other spirit was usually holding the moon in both her palms. It was small enough for her to do so, just cupping it gently and turning it over every now and then. Occasionally she reached towards the sun, directing a beam of light to hit a certain part of the moon, changing it in what she called “phases.”
No matter how hard Měi Yào tried— just for fun, of course— she couldn’t control the moon. She couldn’t direct it to spin in a different direction, couldn’t flip it out of Yuè Chè’s grasp. It was bewildering, how easy Yuè Chè could just take a beam of light from the sun and use it to make the moon glow. Měi Yào knew that the moon couldn’t produce its own light. On one of the many earth-rotations where it felt too long, Yuè Chè had explained it to her. The moon wasn’t a star, so it couldn’t make light on its own. It needed a source, something to reflect down to Earth.
Měi Yào was grateful for the few conversations that she and Yuè Chè had. Even though they were somewhat familiar with each other, Yuè Chè was more reserved, keeping things close to her heart. That was what the pulsing Měi Yào had been feeling was, this… organ inside her chest cavity that pumped in time with the Earth. Did Yuè Chè’s heart beat on the same wavelength? Měi Yào was sure it did. It had to.
They had been growing closer. Sometimes, when Yuè Chè got in those trances when she just hovered and stared down at Earth, Měi Yào would join her, just hovering next to her, pointing out things below. The last time they had done this, Měi Yào was talking about the ocean, different creatures, like jellyfish. So many things glow, she remembered saying, pointing out the waves crashing against the shore at night and glowing. It was a curious phenomenon. The teal color was almost unnatural against the cool blue hue of the ocean, but it fit. Luminescence was the word that she was looking for. Maybe.
What she learned about Yuè Chè through these sessions:
1. She loved the color pink, especially the color of tulips, which were something called flowers.
2. Her favorite thing in all of Earth was something called a cat, a small creature with pointed ears and whiskers, and a tail that curved up when it was happy. They tended to live in homes with the creatures that looked like smaller versions of Měi Yào and Yuè Chè, which Měi Yào now knew as humans.
3. She liked the idea of something that the humans had created, something that they called food. There were so many different kinds of it, diversity across the whole planet. If Měi Yào asked her which type looked the best, Yuè Chè would tell her that Joseon food looked the best. Měi Yào’s opinion was Singapuran, and they argued playfully for a bit.
4. If Yuè Chè could choose an assignment, she would want to be assigned to Earth.
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“It’s late, little one,” said Megan. “The story is only halfway done.” The little girl pouted, looking up at her with pleading eyes. God, Megan was never any good at resisting those eyes.
“Please? Wanna hear what happens next…”
Megan sighed.
“Okay. But only this once. If your mom knew I was keeping you up this late she’d kill me.”
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“Do you ever think about being… human?” Yuè Chè asked, during their most recent session. They were about halfway done with their assignment, Earth diligently orbiting the sun. Time didn’t seem to pass as slowly. Lately, it felt like it was slipping away faster.
Yuè Chè made a small sound, directing Měi Yào’s attention back to her. She took a second to process the question. It’s not like the thought hadn’t run through Měi Yào’s mind once, twice, countless others.
“They’re small, and kind of weak,” she admitted. “They’re not like us. They don’t live forever.” Měi Yào considered the other things, too. The things that she had learned about humans. They could be cruel, at times. They loved to hurt each other, whether it be personal or in things that they called wars. Sometimes their stories didn’t end the way that they wanted them to. A person that they loved got pulled away, their life didn’t end up working out. Měi Yào knew. She had studied them, the intricate personal lives that they ended up living. Would she be able to take the pain, along with the beauty that they lived through? Would Yuè Chè be able to take it?
“I know what you’re thinking,” her fellow spirit murmured. “You’re thinking about all the bad that we see.” Měi Yào swallowed.
“I am,” she said, voice small, barely even there. “It outweighs the good in them. They’re just so… complicated. I don’t know if I could live like that.”
“I could,” said Yuè Chè. “I feel like… even though we’re immortal, and we live forever, we’re stuck here.” She gestured out into the night, stars twinkling in the distance, dust swirling and mixing in different colors. “There are so many of them. There are only two of us.”
Měi Yào watched her fiddle with the sleeve of her robe, a nervous habit that she had memorized over the many rotations they’d been doing their assignment.
“I want to know what it’s like to love,” whispered Yuè Chè. “To care for someone as deeply as they care for each other.” She looked down at her pale hands, tucking her fingers into her palm. “I… I know I feel things. I look down at the Earth and I do love it, and I care for the moon as if it were alive.” Her fingers uncurled.
“It just doesn’t feel enough.”
Motionless, Měi Yào didn’t say anything back. But when Yuè Chè had said that she wanted to care for someone like… like that, loving someone, something twisted in her chest. She pressed a hand over her heart, not quite knowing what the pain meant.
“Yeah,” she croaked out. “I’d like to experience that, too.”
It had taken so many rotations for Yuè Chè to open up, but now that she had, Měi Yào got to see all the sides of her. She wasn’t quiet when she was comfortable, she learned. Měi Yào liked to tease her sometimes, get under her skin. Yuè Chè never got angry with her, just annoyed sometimes, especially when she was doing her job and bringing the moon through another one of its phases.
“Měi,” she would say sternly. “I’m trying to do my job. Don’t you have a sun to spin?”
And that was another thing. Shortening her name. Měi. She liked it. It made her feel like she was getting closer to Yuè Chè, and she was sure that she was. Měi was sure that she had enough time to get even closer to her fellow spirit, as there were still so many rotations around the sun to go. Even if she didn’t, they were paired together for all their assignments, and that was the way it would go until the end of time. She had a lot of time to get to know Yuè Chè. So much time.
“The sun spins by itself,” Měi would say back. “See? All I need to do is this.” With that, she would flick her wrist at the giant ball of flame, adjusting the pace at which it spun. And Yuè Chè would try to keep a straight face but her smile would always crack through, and they would both laugh until breathless. Cheeks flushed, both of them huffing out breaths into the atmosphere. Stars sparkling all around them.
Making Yuè Chè smile made Měi’s heart swell, her own smile peeking through. Her fellow spirit had pointed out the twin lines on her cheeks once. She couldn’t quite see herself, so she could only imagine how they looked, bringing her hands up her face to trace them. Yuè Chè called them cute, and that had made her heart feel close to bursting. Again, she laid her hand flat against her chest, willing the fluttering to stop.
“Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to have a family,” Měi murmurs during another one of their talks. “It’s just us out here. I’m sure there are other spirits, but they’re all doing their assignments, and we haven’t heard from any one of them.”
“I think… I’d like to be human, actually,” she admits. “You made me realize that.” Yuè Chè is silent as she speaks. “It’s so lonely out here. We’re so far away from everything. All of the world seems to be down there—” she gestures at Earth, “— even though it’s so small.”
Yuè Chè finally speaks, her voice soft.
“Try something? With me?”
She holds out a hand, palm upturned. It takes Měi a second to realize that she wants her to take it.
“I was experimenting with something,” says Yuè Chè. “I don’t think we have to be stuck here forever.”
And with that, she pulls Měi down with her, seemingly fixated on one single point on Earth.
She can feel her mouth moving, but she can’t hear anything, and all of a sudden they are everything and nothing at once—
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— one with the universe, no separation—
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— lights flash—
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—are those falling stars?
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Where are you, Yuè Chè?
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I’m right here, Měi.
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I’m always here.
The feel of a hand in hers brings her back to reality. Měi blinks. She’s standing. On something.
She looks down. Her feet are bare, and her toes dig into something soft and wet. Sand. She’s only seen this from far away. Blinking, she squints up. Above, the sun shines bright and full, stars nowhere to be seen. Blue stretches out into the distance. Sky. Water laps at her feet, gentle, before being pulled back by the invisible force of the moon. Sea.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?”
Měi turns to the voice beside her, to Yuè Chè, still holding her hand tight. She looks less pale in this light, her skin taking on a rosy shade. She looks out over the water, a half-smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. Tears spring to Měi’s eyes, and she is suddenly at a loss of words.
“Take your time,” Yuè Chè whispers as Měi turns her face into her arm, overcome by emotion. Her shoulders shake silently as she cries. For the beauty of Earth, for being able to experience it, for Yuè Chè and how she gave Měi a chance to trust her. The ground pulses under her feet, perfectly in time with her heart.
After a little bit of time, she’s able to gather herself enough to wipe her face and smile tearfully at Yuè Chè.
“How?”
Yuè Chè grins back at her, a full smile. For a second, Měi wonders if she should be the sun spirit instead.
“We are only limited to the system of planets orbiting the sun. It’s only going outside of it that we aren’t allowed to do.”
Měi smiles, then falters, doubt slipping in.
“Can we still do our assignments down here?”
Yuè Chè lets go of her hand, gently wrapping her fingers around her wrist and holding it up to the sun.
“Spin.”
Měi closes her eyes, fingers reaching out. She can feel the sun adjust the speed of its turn as she moves her wrist, deep in the core of her being.
She brings her hand back down. Opening her eyes, she turns back to Yuè Chè.
“We can stay?” she asks, voice wavering. “For the rest of this assignment?”
Yuè Chè nods, her own eyes starting to shimmer.
“For as long as we have.”
A single tear makes its way down her face, catching the rays from the sun. Měi fights the urge to reach out and wipe it from her face.
“Good,” Měi breathes. “Because I want to spend the rest of our assignment here with you.”
Yuè Chè laughs wetly at her, wiping the single tear away. Měi watches the sparkling droplet vanish into the endless sea.
“I want to spend the rest of our assignment with you, too,” she says, and it’s the sweetest thing Měi’s ever heard. Her fingers encircle Měi’s wrist again.
“Now come on. We have a world to explore.”
“Of course you took us to Joseon first,” Měi teased as they made their way to one of the docks. People were milling about, fishermen barking orders at each other as they hauled up nets writhing with silver fish. The language that they spoke was different from the one that their names were in, but as she listened to them more, she discovered that she could understand them.
Yuè Chè walked up to one of the women working on the dock, her tongue slipping into the language as easily as if she had been created speaking it. Měi waited for her, still taking in everything. The air had a stinging smell, making her eyes water. If she looked out to sea, she could make out some bigger creatures than fish, their tails splashing the water. Interesting. People were staring at her, and Měi wondered if they could sense that she was different, something not quite human.
She turned back to Yuè Chè, who had finished the conversation, eyes lit up.
“I didn’t even know I could speak languages other than guānhuà,” the moon spirit murmured, staring after the woman. “She said that their language is called gug-eo.” She brought a hand to her lips. “I don’t think I made one mistake in speaking it.”
Měi stopped, taking a second to look at her. Her facial features did look eerily similar to the people of Joseon’s. She filed the thought away for later, the people staring at them making her frown.
“Why are they staring?” she whispered, leaning close to Yuè Chè’s ear. “Do you think they… know? That we’re not like them?”
Yuè Chè shook her head fondly, pulling Měi close to her side. “Your hair is very… brightly colored. They’ve never seen a shade like this before.” She took Měi’s hand, pulling her to the stalls away from the shore. There were so many things that people were selling, like tiny carvings made out of some slightly-greenish stones. At one of the stalls, there was a polished metal circlet, propped on a wooden stand. Měi looked into it, and her breath caught.
She could see herself, finally, for the first time. Her hair was as bright as Yuè Chè said, a bright ginger, slightly wavy at the ends. Her eyes were a lighter shade of brown, pupils dilating when sunlight flashed across them. She smiled, and twin lines appeared on her cheeks, just the way they had been described by the moon spirit.
“You look pretty,” Yuè Chè murmured, her own face appearing in frame right next to Měi’s. “Now you don’t have to hear me describe you to know what you look like.”
Měi poked her side. “Still. You described me pretty well. I mean, I knew my hair was bright, but I didn’t know about those little lines until you told me.”
“They’re called dimples, by the way,” added Yuè Chè, swatting her hand away and rolling her eyes. “I asked the woman for you. She said that they’re very attractive.” Her face turned red, color rushing to the tips of her ears. Měi felt her own face doing the same.
“You think I’m attractive?” she teased, her voice wavering a bit.
“Yes,” Yuè Chè replied quickly, turning even more red as she did. “Shut up.”
For a second, it looked like she might say something more, but the moment passed, both of them seemingly too afraid to say anything. Měi wondered when they both would stop leaving things unsaid.
They spent a good amount of time in Joseon, just enough rotations for Měi to have her turn choosing a place to visit. Singapura was obviously at the top of her list, so they went there next, taking a boat and going on foot, hitching rides from the occasional farmer along the way.
Other spirits were present in their journey, always in pairs, sometimes in human-like forms like them. Animals, sometimes even plants. It was always nice to talk to beings that understood them, knowing that they all had a purpose that was so different from humanity.
Singapura was a beautiful country, wooden stilt houses along the shore of the main island, small fishing boats bobbing in the sea. It was simple, and it didn’t seem like anyone’s first choice, but maybe that was why Měi felt such a strong connection to it. The jungles were filled with tigers, some of them spirits who had been given that form. She felt a strange sadness for them, almost like a premonition, but she couldn’t quite figure out why.
After Singapura, they made their way throughout the rest of the continent that the people from Joseon called cheonha, “the world under heaven.” There were so many different countries, provinces, and people that were so similar but different.
They’re at Las Islas Filipinas when Yuè Chè is out one night, bringing the moon through another of its phases. A slim yellow crescent in the sky, hanging low over the stars. Měi watching her work. The way she moves, so with intent, so beautiful that it makes a lump rise in her throat.
She thinks about the time that they had spent together. This would be the last earth-rotation before their next assignment.
Their talk about wanting to love. Now, Měi finally gets it. She loves Yuè Chè. Wants to be the one who she cares about, close to her heart.
“Yuè Chè,” she rasps, her voice thick. She watches her turn, bringing her hand back down.
“I— ” she pauses. The words won’t come out. She watches the moon spirit move closer to her. The syllables stick, then come out in a rush.
“I could be the one you love,” Měi blurts. “When you said you wanted to experience caring for someone that deeply. I could be the one you care about.” There’s so much more she wants to say, but she doesn’t know how to say it.
The moon spirit is silent for a moment. She turns her face up towards the moon, letting the light wash over her.
One step closer, through the rustling grass.
Another.
Then her mouth is slotted against Měi’s.
Měi gasps, her breath hitching, pressing into the kiss. All of the rotations of longing, feeling, all this tension resolved.
Yuè Chè pulls back, her face flushed. When she speaks, her voice is steady.
“You are already the one I care about, Měi.”
Both of them end up on the grass together, sleeping under the stars. A shimmering form detaches themself from the stars.
Měi. Yuè Chè.
Měi opens her eyes blearily, and Yuè Chè does too, after a bit.
Your assignment is up. You have done well. Prepare to be reassigned soon. The deity stands there, face unreadable.
Měi looks over at Yuè Chè, grinning.
“We’ll be the same. Just starting new.”
The moon spirit smiles back, her eyes crinkling.
You won’t.
Měi pauses, looking at the deity. Her smile drops.
“What?”
The deity’s face is almost conflicted. You won’t remember anything from this assignment. For each one, you start over.
Měi shakes her head, eyes filling.
“No, no. This can’t— everything? We forget everything?”
Yes. You two don’t have long. Say your goodbyes.
She turns desperately to Yuè Chè. Her face is also crumpling.
“I’ll fall in love with you again. It doesn’t matter how many times we have to start over.”
Yuè Chè nods, tears spilling over.
“I know you will. I will too.”
Měi lunges forward, kissing her again. She wants to memorize this, the feel of Yuè Chè’s lips against hers, the last thing she feels before losing everything.
Time is up.
And then, they are gone.
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"Is that the end for them?"
"Far from it."