Seokjin the traveling salesman, who sells jars of synthetic stars, meets Jungkook the boy, who carries real ones in his eyes.
A tiny post-apocalyptic AU.
Seokjinās never seen real stars, you seeā¦only heard about them in stories. As a child, heād spend hours digging through old books, ones left in piles within dusty abandoned libraries. On a good day, heād find oneāa picture of a night sky, and his reaction was always the same. Awe. Wonder. Longing. And for a moment, a bit of healing knowing there was something bigger than himself out there.
So it became his lifeās work: mixing chemicals and metals to mimic the night sky. And when he perfected it, Seokjin bottled it in jars and set out in his caravan, visiting cities and selling his magic in a bottle.
It was rewarding for Seokjin, to see the delight of his customers as they walked away with twinkling lights in-hand. Some smiling for the first time in months, maybe years.
Seokjin, though, had grown immune to the āwonderā of his faux galaxies. The awe and longing far behind him. But it was a rewarding way to make a livingāselling stars, and a steady one to boot.
That is, until he reached Han City.
āWe wonāt need your wares here,ā an old man hollered at him as he parked somewhere safe.
āIām sorry, what?ā
āStars. We donāt need āem here.ā
Seokjin was accustomed to the occasional heckler, so he waves his hand, dismissing as he yells, āYou donāt have to buy them, sir. No one is forcing youā¦ā
āNo, son. You donāt understand. We donāt need stars. We already have āem.ā
The old man approaches and points toward a worn billboard in the distance, barely visible through the fog.
View the Stars.
100 won for 5 minutes.
Back of the Old Theater
Seokjin is skeptical, prepared for disappointment as he pulls his caravan toward the theater, a dark building marred by crumbling paint.
Itās late, but a faint light is seen through the windows. Seokjin makes his way inside the quiet theater and follows the hand-painted signs to a dark room with a small box on the door. Seokjin drops in 100 won, and the door creaks, popping open.
He wonders if this is a trap. The room is tiny, confessional-like. Just a single chair with a dim light, facing a red velvet curtain, drawn closed.
Seokjin holds his breath and sits down, whipping his head backward as he hears the door click shut behind him. Seokjin gasps as he hears the soft shuffling of the curtain beginning to draw back.
What will it be? A painting? Some optical illusion? A forgery? A trap?
A boy.
Itās a boy. Sitting on a chair like his own, the boy pulls his hood back and smiles, dimples peeking before letting his face relax.
And Seokjin sees stars.
Real stars.
Galaxies and light. Endless oceans that feel like terror, and tiny spaces that feel like home.
Awe. Wonder. Longing. āYouāve seen me before, havenāt you,ā the boy says.
He has. Of course he has. In every story from his grandmother. In every dusty book heās cherished...Seokjin saw this boyās eyes.
āI have,ā Seokjin says, mouth dry.
āItās good to see you again,ā the stars reply.
ā ā ā
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