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at 5:53 pm the radio switches from chopin to static without changmin’s permission.
his hands, firm on the steering wheel, loosen for a second as he frowns. he doesn’t reach over to interfere, though, and the mercedes rumbles amicably underneath him.
the sun is setting - splitting between two sand dunes in the distance, miles ahead. changmin has been driving for what feels like days now, and he has not heard the voice of another human until this very minute.
“hello listeners,” a voice says, breaking through the static like a ray of god-given light on a cloudy day. changmin’s heart twists, at the sound, and his knuckles whiten against the steering wheel. the voice is…deep. dips in octave like the ocean, and somehow, it latches onto everything in changmin and holds on tight. “before we begin, a message, from our sponsors. those at the research centre two and a third doors down from the pool repair store say only this - ‘mass is now proportionate to volume’. they state that if anybody deems to disagree, they are implored to head toward the abandoned mineshaft outside of town after dark, to discuss their opposing points of view. this message, was brought to you by the nightvale community research centre. thank you.”
changmin has heard stronger voices, deeper voices. voices that carry more depth and higher, sweeter voices. but no voice has ever sounded like…this. it takes him a small century to reach across from the steering wheel and over to the car’s ancient radio. his hand lingers over the volume dial, wanting to turn it up.
he screws his eyes closed, for a second, and the red desert disappears from his view. he chooses the mute option, instead, and silence is his own companion as he pulls through the desert for the rest of the night.
○
in the morning, changmin peels himself off of the leather seat, head smushed against the glass. he’d slept on the side of the road, small pricky pear cactuses smushed underneath the front wheel of the 230e. the coupe whines when he kicks it into ignition, wiping at his eyes.
sleep drags him twice through the mud, and changmin pretends he did not dream of that voice, and a face he cannot see.
his destination feels closer today, but changmin has been driving for a week now with no clear progress. he thinks about unmuting the radio, but he doesn’t.
○
the radio unmutes itself. changmin thinks he may be going insane.“there’s a Stranger approaching nightvale,” the voice on the radio says, picking apart changmin with calculation rich in every single syllable. he shudders, and tries not to swerve. “he’s driving a 1981 mercedes benz 230e coupe. it’s off white, and the left rear taillight has been shattered since 2016. other than that, the car is by all means, roadworthy. worthy of the Stranger, though, is another question entirely. can anything be worthy of Him? what does He want? what does He do? what is His name? why do the small dips of His eyes crinkle in the corners when He smiles? we are all extremely intrigued, here at the nightvale community radio station. more on this story later, for now, the weather.” the voice fades into a brief patch of silence, and then changmin’s car fills with the gentle sounds of rain. he peers outside and there is not a single cloud in the sky.
changmin’s body swims with an unspeakable sense of dread. his insides feel as if they have turned to lead, instead, and his whole body aches to know who says words like that.
○
the next night, changmin prepares himself to listen to a whole broadcast, from start to finish. the mercedes is stationary, simply because changmin cannot trust himself to drive properly with the croon of that voice for an extended period of time. instead, he ruffles through his duffel bag in the back and finds a comforter. he’s slept well enough in his dress slacks and silk shirt, but tonight, he cannot stop shivering.
“hello listeners! 6 months ago today, i began as the newest intern here at night vale community radio. for some reason, interns here drop like flies. our last intern, ryeowook, told me he was heading out for a cup of jung ramyum from the convenience store on the corner. he was never seen again. and neither was the store, the empty lot where it once was now houses the glow cloud. he’s green today, and will not tell anybody his name. this is fine. do not approach him. do not.”
the host pauses, the desperation in his voice evaporating entirely as he switches subject.
“to celebrate this anniversary, it seems the universe has given me a gift in the form of this Stranger, who nears our very tiny desert town by the hour. He is stationary, for now, but by tomorrow He will arrive. He has come from a very big city, and His shirt is all crinkly. we do not know what He does, but i do believe i may be enamoured with Him.”
changmin sweats under the weight of his blanket, suddenly too warm to think.
“in other news, the mayor and the four councillors that share the same body have boarded a helicopter with an undisclosed destination in mind. kim kibum from the town library began a live poll dividing the possible locations our city leaders have retreated to. 56% of the nightvale population believe they have escaped to the cayman islands, deserting us forever in to be swallowed by the eventual rage of the nameless glow cloud. 19% reject this idea, and claim the councillors have been swallowed by the abandoned mineshaft to be lost forever. 12% say the dog park is where the helicopter landed and claim they have seen it with their own eyes, but not one of these witnesses has been seen alive again.”
he clears his throat. changmin melts.
“8% say miami, because the sands are white and the oceans are clear blue, and it is quote unquote ‘heaven’. the final 5% include a myriad of other options. what is certain though, is that the councillors are no longer within our welcoming city’s little electorate, and the glow cloud grows restless with their absence. from my seat here, in the nightvale community radio station broadcast station, i can see it with my own two eyes. it’s a mild grey, and looks almost like smoke. i’m waving to it, and it appears to wave back. if any other listeners are out there within range of the glow cloud, please do not verbally interact with it. the glow cloud is shy, and easily scared. and now a brief look at financial news-“
the broadcast goes static, for a while, and changmin scowls in brief disappointment, the voice fading away. he feels its absence like a phantom limb. minutes pass, and the voice reappears, swallowing the silence that changmin’s car collects.
“-and that was financial news. tune in next week for a continuation of the same stock market analysis. this just in nightvale, i have been handed a fax by my colleague, chanyeol. it is signed by the mayor themselves and the four headed councillor, and it reads: GOOD AFTERNOON CITIZENS OF NIGHTVALE, this is then followed by a poorly drawn sketch of that extremely good looking waiter at the hole-in-the-wall cafe, jongin. still in the messy drawing, he still remains to be the most aesthetically pleasing human on planet earth. i would like to say in all of the universe, but i am not allowed to say that without a lawyer present. tomorrow, i will update you all on how this fax has affected the result of kibum’s poll. for now, citizens of nightvale, there is not much more for me to say. the moon is bright, and the glow cloud is stationary. i wish all of you a dreamless sleep, and hope that each of you live to see the faces of your loved ones in the morning. goodnight, goodnight, goodnight. this is jung yunho, of the nightvale community radio, signing out.”
yunho. the name settles inside changmin’s chest at the same pace as yunho’s honey rich voice, and he feels like he’s floating all over again. yunho, yunho, yunho. a mantra. a beacon. he starts up the engine and begins to drive, determined to hit nightvale before the sun rises.
○
he arrives in nightvale at six am, eyes bleary from the lack of sleep, and he pulls into the first motel he sees. yixing, the receptionist, smiles at him with surprise.
“may i please book a room?”
“of course. how long would you like it for?”
“forever.” changmin blurts, leaning over the counter, exhausted. yixing beams at him, brightly.
“forever it is.” he takes changmin’s name and his platinum amex, handing it back between two long, delicate fingers and not meeting changmin’s eye, enamoured in his hard copy log of their guests. the book is empty for the first fifty pages, changmin notes. yixing seems to turn to one randomly, jotting down his name easily.
“not many guests?” he asks, waiting for yixing to hand him a key.
yixing shrugs, “it’s been a quiet summer. we don’t get many visitors here in nightvale.” he looks changmin in the eye then, as the key passes between the two of them. resting his chin on his hand, yixing fixes changmin with a gentle gaze, appraising his silk button down and his dishevelled hair.
“speaking of, what brings a shim changmin to a place like this?”
changmin’s silent, for a while. yixing doesn’t seem to mind the silence that stretches between them, and for a while it’s as if he doesn’t think changmin will answer.
“the radio.” he says, finally.
“hm?”
“you asked me what would bring me to a place like this. the uh, the radio did.” is all he says. yixing’s head dips like he’s a puppy, inquisitive, and nods with unspoken understanding, smiling.
“enjoy your room, shim changmin.”
○
it’s spacious and clean, with a kingsized bed and a mirror across from the bedspread. a little tv rests on the far wall, below the windows. it’s still dark in a six am nightvale, and changmin relishes in the white noise. he searches the room desperately for a radio and finds one in the cupboard by the bed, next to a bible that has no text beyond the title page.
he fumbles, realising he doesn’t know the frequency of the station. feeling dumb, changmin sits down on the edge of the bed and squints, playing with the dials. it comes to life on its own, after a while, and the familiar wave of static washes over him. nightvale community radio doesn’t have a six am broadcast, but the white noise calms changmin as if it’s a blanket, or a warm hand on his shoulder, telling him ‘you did well, get some rest.’ he complies with the not-there voice and lies down. he sleeps without a blanket, for most of the day, and has the radio clutched tightly in his arms.
○
routine is...strange in nightvale, but changmin finds his own. during the day he hides in his hotel room, opens his laptop to write aimless lines of poetry about things he doesn’t understand. he wants to be a writer. wants to escape his office and skyscrapers. at night, changmin lies awake until yunho’s voice sings cacophonies in his ears, dipping in and out of consciousness at the mercy of a honey-rich croon. he thinks about yunho’s eyes, eyes he hasn’t even seen yet, and writes a novel in his sleep.
○
there’s a cafe near the motel. changmin, returning from a run-in with a six legged cat outside of the grocery store, happens upon it. he clutches his bag of leeks and various vegetables desperately as the feline mews. a bright eyed girl with a gentle smile apologises, holding a bright pink leash.
“that’s babyhead, he’s harmless.” she promises.
changmin gives babyhead a gentle stroke along his back, and he purrs. he sends babyhead’s owner a quick smile and continues on his way. the cafe is bright and warm, the sound of a milk wand blasting underneath the gentle static of background noise. it’s endearing, and he peers inside.
a single male barista is behind the counter, humming to himself as he pours foam into a bright mug. he looks up as changmin wanders in and beams, sun kissed skin glistening in the light.
“good morning stranger, what can i do for you?” that word. stranger. the way yunho had said it sounds infinitely better to sooth changmin’s burning heart, but even the word itself calms the hurricane of his heartbeat.
“i’ll just grab a latte. to…have here. two sugars?”
“sounds wonderful.” the boy says, and his eyes dip into crescents. he’s almost ethereal, and changmin thinks back to that broadcast, all those days ago.
“i hope this isn’t too forward, but…are you jongin, i-i heard on the radio-?” he stammers, embarrassed, all of a sudden. if any other human had known changmin’s desperate ache for…that voice. he would probably wander off into the sand to be swallowed by desert worms.
jongin’s eyes sparkle again, and he brushes it off as if it’s completely normal. “yunho hyung is too kind. that’s me, kim jongin. i just like making coffees. everybody is convinced i’m the most aesthetically pleasing human on planet earth. it’s a small town.” he waves his hand cutely, and changmin wants to pinch his cheeks.
“speaking of,” jongin continues, taking changmin’s amex, “what brings you to nightvale, stranger?”
yixing had asked with more gusto, like it’s a terrible secret. jongin’s just curious.
“i want to become a writer.” he says, this time. if jongin knows yunho, he’s not sure the bloodcurdling want for that voice should be something reported back on, he’s not sure how well he would take yunho’s voice curling around his name, him. he shudders, as the thought brushes over him.
“that’s wonderful,” jongin says again, handing him his card back. “there’s much to write about.”
“yeah,” changmin says, thinking about the way yunho says Stranger, “there really is.”
○
yunho says his name for the first time in march. nearly a month after changmin’s arrival - maybe more. or less. time passes strangely in nightvale. or rather, time passes over nightvale entirely. forgets its there. and then remembers. then forgets again. changmin’s rolex doesn’t work anymore, and he throws it out. after a myriad of broadcasts about the city council’s lack of leaders, the glow cloud that seems to expand in size by every growing day - the pacifist dragon that sleeps in the town park’s pond. anything. the nonsense comes far and in-between, and changmin burrows himself into nightvale and makes a home there.
it’s late, and he’s…stuck. writing about yunho takes up his days, takes up his nights. it’s difficult to write about a voice and nothing else, but changmin will never run out of words for yunho. he has twenty six letters and every single possible combination of those. all for yunho.
yunho’s voice is like slipping into a warm bath. yunho saying changmin’s name, is like being drenched in ice water.
“and now it’s time for a new section we’re trialling here at nightvale community radio - my colleague, kyuhyun, personally disagreed with the addition of this show, questioning the relevancy. alas, me being the only current intern to have not disappeared under mysterious circumstances, demanded that it be instated, as your loving host.”
yunho says the word loving and changmin squirms in his seat at the desk, listening in.
“this section is hereby named, Things I Adore About Visitor Shim Changmin-“ he nearly falls of his seat. if humans were capable of melting, he would have. molecules smooshed into the clean white carpet of the motel room. his insides turn to mush and changmin’s heart sings, cries, dances. his ribcage is a prison, heartbeat smashing against his bones.
shim changmin. his name. he wonders, if the radio can record audio - he wants to hear yunho . changmin closes his eyes, leaning back in his seat, all possible motivation to work obliterated by the feeling coursing through his body. that voice, his name. it’s like a spell. something compels him, an invisible force pulls him toward the radio and he sits by it in reverence, listening. yunho has not once spoken about him since his arrival, but now, here he is. yunho’s voice oscillating with unspoken power. changmin surrenders.
“-shim changmin. if any of you are curious as to whom i refer to, it’s probably for the best, for if you haven’t yet noticed the brilliant, celestial hurricane that is our town’s newest addition, perhaps you will forever be impaired in every physical sense. to ignore such a cherubic piece of humanity is beyond my comprehension.”
he’s weak at the knees, unable to understand, to fathom the voice that says these things, awash like a tsunami. changmin breaks, buckling, and slips to the carpet, ear against the mesh of the radio speaker, drinking in yunho’s cool tone.
“shim changmin is a writer, according to jongin, who is currently being challenged for ‘most aesthetically pleasing person on planet earth.’ shim changmin is beautiful, perfect and his hair looks softer than cotton candy. shim changmin is…spectacular. like fireworks. shim changmin, if you’re listening, i’m free on thursday and i cannot get your face out of my mind. wouldn’t you like to see mine?”
if flirting over a public broadcasting system was…a thing, changmin would study it. he’d graduate ivy league with his masters. a phd. he wishes he could reply, wishes this was a two way call between him and the only person he’s ever once been so addicted to.
but it is not, and yunho’s in a broadcasting room somewhere in town, possibly alone, possibly smirking, knowing the effect he has on changmin - knowing that his quavering voice was the only stability changmin had known since his two feet were planted on the floor of a law firm.
“i’m very much looking forward to it. if you are, that is,” yunho says, and his voice carries itself around the hotel room, occupying every possible inch of surface area. it lingers in changmin’s mind, sticky like gum, and he closes his eyes. “and that’s all of Things I Adore About Shim Changmin we have time for, but look forward to next week’s episode, dearest listeners and my dearest, dearest writer shim changmin.”
the way yunho says my rips through changmin’s tiny frame like a cyclone. a tiny, savage part in changmin wants to be his.
○
when they meet, it is not on yunho’s specified thursday. it’s the monday, and changmin is not looking where he’s going. changmin’s lugging two plastic bags of miscellaneous grocery store things and also stationary related things, because the range of glitter gel pens in nightvale is wonderfully astounding. changmin’s laptop hasn’t been working since he arrived, but he doesn’t mind, enjoying the solace of writing by hand thus far. he’s thinking about rich, honeyed words and golden curls of the tongue and the way jung yunho puckers his lips around the ‘min’ at the end of his name.
he’s not imagining it when he hears it, in person, for the very first time.
“i’m so sorry-“ he starts, trying to get a look at the face of the tall man he’d just bumped into, but he doesn’t need to look to know. he drops a bag in shock and his things scatter across the pavement, like his life spilling secrets out across the sidewalk.
“that’s quite alright, shim changmin.” jung yunho says, brushing himself off and standing tall, a little shorter than changmin, almond eyes crinkling in the centre of his gorgeous, gorgeous face. his lips curl in something like astonishment and changmin nearly faints.
“y-yunho.” he stammers, his face flushing. there’s so much he could say, so many things he has thought about this moment, about this now. about yunho’s face, tilted in curiosity and his arm, his beautiful, beautiful arm, still resting on changmin’s elbow to steady himself.
changmin feels as if he is the one about to collapse. you’re beautiful, he wants to say, you’re perfect and your voice is my home. i would do anything for you, he wants to say, but even in nightvale, none of these things are remotely appropriate, especially for a midday meeting outside the front of a entrance to a parking lot. changmin’s motel room is a stone’s throw across the road. he doesn’t know where the radio station is, banned himself from searching.
there’s a million things he could say, too, but he splutters, uselessly, like a fish. glub-glub. yunho grips at his elbow one last time and squeezes. changmin nearly convulses.
“you’re cute,” yunho laughs, and he looks like he might come up to poke at one of changmin’s cheeks. a pufferfish.
“you’re…” my entire universe. “…yunho.”
yunho laughs again, and changmin feels like he’s the only person on earth around to hear it. “that’s me. and you’re shim changmin.”
your shim changmin. he bites down on his tongue. he does not deign to say that. he doesn’t say anything, starstruck. yunho walks around like he carries the sun in his arms, too bright. the heat of the desert beats down ceaselessly upon them, but changmin’s has never felt so warm until now.
“will you honour me with a cup of coffee, shim changmin?” the lieu of normal conversation drags changmin back into reality. soothes him. he hasn’t felt anything close to normal since he’d pushed himself out of his bleary, bleary office and onto the freeway, windows down, the rattle of his little white car humbling along.
“coffee,” he says. “yeah. coffee sounds. really nice.”
yunho laughs at him again, but he doesn’t feel scrutinised. he takes in everything, again, chestnut hair, almost a little too long, curled around yunho’s too-big ears. he’s taller than changmin by a while, but it’s not something he’d ever mind, wearing a light blue button down tucked into jeans, the first three buttons left open. he drags his eyes away from the sinewy tanned tease of yunho’s exposed chest and focuses on his voice, instead.“may i give you my phone number?” yunho asks, and changmin nods, trying not to be so overly enthusiastic. it’s a futile thing, but he manages.
“my erm. my notebook is-“ changmin only just realises that they’re still standing around a mess of his things. a tomato lodged in the gutter, two packets of ramen resting against yunho’s leather dress shoes. his notebook is behind yunho, it’s bright pink - hello kitty, the dainty sanrio cat waving at them both from the ground.
“your notebook is hello kitty,” yunho says, elated. “that’s precious.”
changmin beams, the back of his neck flushed red. they spend a moment gathering his things, and when their hands brush, neither of them say a thing. changmin tries to survey yunho’s expression, unpack the thoughts swimming behind his squinted caramel eyes. he grabs a fluffy green glitter pen and scribbles his phone number onto a ripped page, a shopping list on the other side, and hands it with great trepidation, to jung yunho.
yunho takes it with a grateful smile, and rakes his eyes up and down changmin once more.
“this has been wonderful, shim changmin.” yunho announces, eyes bright, and he holds up the folded pink hello kitty notebook page as if it’s a treasured achievement. he skips past changmin, brushing his hands over changmin’s arm again briefly. when he leaves, changmin watches him go, and feels the heavy weight of yunho’s brief fingertips against his bare forearm, trying to recollect whatever scraps of his conscious remain intact.
○
oddly, they don’t get coffee together, in the hole-in-the wall-cafe. yunho texts him on the tuesday. changmin knows it’s him, somehow, without registering the fact that he’d never been given yunho’s number, in return.
[11:45am] from: unknown number
shim changmin, if you could for a moment, ignore the cryptic nature of this request, and meet me at the edge of town on route 43 this evening?
changmin stumbles over the phone. it feels foreign in his hands, now, and he remembers a time when he was glued to the thing, checking emails, signing off on deals - taking calls. he pushes the memory away and scrambles to respond.
[11:46am] to: yunho
i would love to
[11:46am] to: yunho
should i bring anything?
[11:46am] from: unknown number
only yourself!
changmin’s heart stammers, steps and falls. he can handle this.
○
changmin drives, pulling up when he catches sight of yunho leaning against a streetlamp. it’s changing colours; indecisive on the correct hue for a town streetlight. yunho waves, his skin mottling under a sheen of red, then blue, then yellow.
there’s a basket by his feet, and something underneath his arm. changmin wets his lips and shuts the door of the merc gently, heart hammering rabbit-fast in his chest. yunho beams, his lopsided eyesmile catching changmin like a bullet to the stomach.
he doesn’t know what to do know, whether he shakes yunho’s hand or hugs him or pushes him against the storefront a few feet away from him and kisses him or-
“thanks for humouring me on such short notice,” yunho says, instead, snapping changmin away from his thoughts. he smiles good-naturedly, and tips his head.
“i was actually. hoping you’d ask.” changmin admits, some small semblance of confidence returning to himself once again. “i’m not very good at the uh. first date thing.”
yunho keeps his smile, and turns to link their arms together.
“you’re wonderful, shim changmin.” yunho announces, and changmin’s knees shiver at the praise. “i wanted to be the first to show you a nightvale sunset.”
as if there could be anybody else. yunho leads them arm in arm toward a sand dune just a few feet from the highway. he hands changmin the basket and unrolls the item underneath his arm - a light green picnic blanket. changmin’s heart sings.
he sets the basket down when yunho pats the spot beside him, and changmin follows suit, sitting down patiently.
“how long have you been a radio host?” he asks yunho after a pang of silence, the taller boy fumbling with the basket and its contents.
“how about we play 20 questions, shim changmin?” yunho offers instead, smiling like a cat. changmin feels…he feels. light. lighthearted. safe. the sun is beginning to wander down toward the sand dunes, sunset imminent.
“yeah, yeah. okay.” he says. yunho beams.
“you’re meant to. pick somebody, and ask questions to guess who they are. but,” yunho hands changmin a bowl of fruit, and he absentmindedly picks at the grapes. “rules are boring. we’ll just take turns. you ask me a question, and in return, i get one from you.”
a push and pull. an exchange of secrets. changmin, mouth full of grapes, can only nod.
“to answer your question - i think 10 months. i grew up in nightvale. i like the radio. it’s comfortable, i like telling stories.”
changmin likes telling stories too, stories about how yunho’s smile could light up half of the southern hemisphere at night if it was so electrically inclined. yunho takes a grape.
“what’s your favourite colour?”
“red. what’s yours?”
“bright eye-burning neon yellow.”
“favourite number? mine’s two.”
“infinity. if you could summarise yourself in one brief sentence, what would it be?”
“um. once in college i drank half a red bull and jumped from a roof because i thought i could fly.”
“that’s your opening fact?” yunho’s laughing, like bells. changmin can’t help himself - he’s laughing too.
“very much so,” he says, sincere. “you?”
“the radio intern before me - ryeowook, once recorded me radio broadcasting in my sleep.”
changmin grins. yunho bumps his shoulder. “your favourite book?”
“anything by moon insoo.”
“hitchhiker’s guide to the galaxy.” yunho counters, quick on the exhale. “why did you come to nightvale?” yunho’s question alters the tone of the banter between them, strangely serious. he tenses a little, sitting up.
“well,” changmin says, stammering. “i was running away. from. being a lawyer.”
“lawyers are by trade, evil.” yunho agrees, and the easy, gentle way he brushes away changmin’s lingering anxiety washes over him like a warm shower.
“i’m glad you came.” yunho says seriously. “my favourite visitor.”
talking to yunho is almost as easy as listening to him. he’s bright when he needs to be, quiet when changmin speaks. changmin has always enjoyed the mellow silence he relied on to remain sane behind a corporate label. yunho is loud…noisy. changmin wants to hold onto every, tiny, minuscule noise that yunho makes and collect them all in tiny jars. keep them safe.
“i’m glad i came too.” changmin admits quietly. yunho says nothing and laces their fingers together between them, pointing up at the sky with his other arm. the sunset is in full swing all around them, pinks and yellows glittering over the red sand dunes. if it were anywhere else, it would be the most spectacular singularity that shim changmin had ever seen.
but this is nightvale, and no sunset could compare to the gentle way that yunho’s thumb rubbed circles onto his first finger, their hands entwined. changmin’s heart stammers away, and he falls into the steady rhythm of listening to yunho speak about something and nothing, all at once.
○
“an important bulletin regarding our visitor shim changmin,” yunho begins, that night, saccharine. his voice curls, purrs, around changmin’s name, and it makes his ears burn.
“he makes his hot chocolates like this: he puts warm milk, on the stove. sometimes he uses a microwave, but the radiation ban of last july has left all motels microwave-less. shim changmin adds two sprigs of cinnamon bark and a drizzle of honey, and he distractedly plays with the dogear of his book - a collection of obscure south korean poetry, with the words shh! the universe must be quiet , underlined gently in black pen. the milk comes to a simmer, and shim changmin mixes in drinking chocolate powder four up to three minutes, the burner on low and strains the mixture eventually. he drinks it in three big sips, in his favourite yellow mug.”
changmin looks over at the moon insoo book on the kitchen bench, and gulps. time seems to waver, around the space that is changmin’s tiny hotel room. in the window outside, the night sky bleeds pink - light and soft, like cotton candy. the glow cloud is in a pleasant mood, enveloping the sky. he lets the colour envelop him and tries, desperately, not to fall in love.
○
two hours later, at the crux of midnight, yunho appears at his hotel room with two mugs of hot chocolate, and smiles his lopsided crinkle smile.
“i hope this isn’t too forward, but i would love to hear about that poetry.” he says, to changmin’s shell-shocked expression.
changmin smells cinnamon, then honey, and fails, desperately, at falling in love.
○
changmin spends every night of the week listening to yunho’s broadcast, curled up in his hotel room. afterward, as if tied to some nameless routine, yunho appears, with food, or hot chocolate, or a book he’d stolen from the library and they’d spend hours together alone in the darkness of an empty post-midnight nightvale.
they sit on the rooftop of changmin’s car as it rains, and yunho tells him about the time a vortex had opened in the grocery store parking lot and everybody had lost their hair for three and a half weeks, mysteriously. sometimes, they get food at the 24 hour takeout place, albeit the limited menu offering only macarons this month, changmin doesn’t really mind, when yunho presses a thumb to the side of changmin’s mouth. crumbs, is all he says, eyes crinkly. changmin’s blood pressure sears under the touch, and he manages a smile in return.
they share their first kiss underneath the same broken lamppost yunho had been leaning on, nearly a week ago, and he closes his eyes before yunho leans forward, skin flushed green by the artificial light.
“is it okay if i kiss you?” yunho wonders, voice like starlight. changmin’s heart squirms.
“yes. please.” he replies, stepping forward.
a vortex could appear beneath them and changmin would never realise, lost in the pulchritude of yunho’s lips, the way he smiles. yunho’s mouth is soft. so soft. he knows what's doing, too, tongue flicking out to lick at changmin's lips until he opens for him. there's light green, now, behind the lids of changmin’s closed eyes but it fades into nothing as yunho moans, ever so gently into his mouth. it feels as if, they kiss forever - like this vortex of time between them has spasmed and expanded to swallow them up and keep them here forever - as if changmin can hold onto yunho and keep him here. keep him.
when he opens his eyes, hands tangled in yunho’s shirt and his lips swollen, yunho is bright purple. they kiss again. yunho’s yellow. again. blue, now. and they kiss and kiss and kiss, under the broken lamp, dancing in hues of colours neither of them can deign to name. changmin holds onto yunho like he’s a phantom, ready to slip away.
he doesn’t slip away, though, he worms himself into changmin’s life like a hurricane and he stays there.
○
the glow cloud tells changmin his name. it’s friday, and changmin is listening to yunho’s broadcast alone, outside. the stars twinkle brightly, in an abstract, pleasant type of muted chaos that changmin doesn’t experience, but can observe. shooting stars dart across the black expanse, and changmin can see the gentle light of the glow cloud nearing his peripheral.
it wanders over, floating. it’s shy, changmin thinks, and he pulls himself out of his yunho-trace, away from yunho’s dribbling about the weather.
“hey.” changmin says, softly, to the cloud.
yunho had warned people not to approach the cloud. it’s blue, today, and changmin wants to ask if it’s sad. yunho had never said anything about the cloud approaching changmin.
“i’m just listening to the radio,” he says, when the cloud says nothing. “you’re welcome to join me.”
the cloud hovers over, nervous, but sure. changmin shuffles a bit, not sure how much space the large, humming entity really requires to function. yunho says the cloud has been in nightvale for 7 years now, and sometimes spreads itself over the sky to change colours and make rain for weeks. the cloud has not made it rain since changmin has arrived. he’s thankful for that, at least.
yunho’s voice resumes between them, gentle. the cloud sways.
are you in love? the cloud asks, after a long pang of silence echoes between them, the white-noise of yunho’s bare audible muttering filling in the gaps.
changmin’s heart pangs, once. “yeah.” he says, his throat suddenly thick with emotion. “i-i am.”
me too the cloud says. it’s a lighter blue, almost violet.
“that’s wonderful.” changmin says, honestly. “who are you in love with?”
kim jongin, the cloud says, the barista. changmin smiles earnestly, looking over.
“it’s hard not to be in love with him.” changmin agrees, biting his lip eventually. “i think i’m in love with the radio host.”
yunho’s voice then, cutting through the silence oh so gently “-in the latest sports news, the football field outside of town has ruptured to create a portal to hell recently and-“
the cloud hums, as if in some deep understanding of the miscellaneous sensations associated with young, young love. changmin is twenty seven, though, and he feels as if his youth consisting of law school and vague and far-between college piss-ups is unfair. he feels eighteen again, fresh-faced and nervous, his cheeks flushing whenever yunho curls his lips around the twist of changmin’s name, or tangles their fingers together over the centre console, midnight driving through sand dunes.
changmin’s youth is now, is here, in the endless cacophony of nightvale ruckus and yunho’s laughter, all the tiny fragments of yunho’s personality littered in every small noise he allows changmin the pleasure of hearing.
the radio host is nice, the cloud agrees, i want to tell jongin that i like him. i’m not sure how.
changmin considers this. “well, maybe you should introduce yourself. get to know him a little more, you might have something in common. maybe jongin is fond of floating too.”
that sounds like a good idea.
changmin looks over. the cloud is a lighter blue, now, humming contentedly. changmin turns the radio up a little.
what’s your name? the cloud asks, during a pause in the broadcast.
“i’m changmin.”
oh. i’m taemin.changmin beams. “it’s lovely to meet you, taemin.”
○
“an insider has revealed that the glow cloud has given us a name! taemin! isn’t that so wonderful. welcome taemin, to our humble town, even though you have been here for a while now, we are honoured to have you, wherever you are! in other news, barista jongin has been kidnapped! we cannot give any more details, due to the covert nature of the investigation, more on this, after the weather!”
○
taemin has been pink for almost a week now. coincidentally, kim jongin has been missing for a week. nobody says anything. his absence goes almost completely unnoticed, not by changmin, though, who misses the way jongin makes his coffee. sehun is the new barista, and he’s brattishly charming in his own right.
changmin sips on his latte and yunho picks at a muffin with ease, scribbling down nonsense into his tiny moleskin.
“i miss jongin.” changmin says, to nobody, the all-pink expanse of a taemin covered sky. he knows, though, that if jongin didn’t want to be where he was, then he would be back here, frothing milk with a practised ease instead of over-stretching the foam.
over the sound of the milk wand’s squeal, yunho peeks up.
“we all miss jongin.” he replies, solemn. sehun drops the jug, by the sound of things, and changmin exhales, putting his latte down. he looks over at the sky and at sehun, lanky and frazzled, scrambling to wipe up the milk.
don’t keep him for long, he tries to telepathically tell taemin, burnt milk sticking to his gums.
○
“this just in dearest listeners, almost a week and a half after his disappearance, kim jongin has been returned to us! he gave his official statement to the Secret Police and claimed that he eloped with taemin the glow cloud, the pair of them escaping to the underworld to officiate their marriage. we are so so happy for the new couple and wish them all the best in the future!”
○
for the first time in a while, changmin hears normal music on the radio station. it’s nearly sundown, and yunho’s voice is a gentle croon, describing the economical repercussions of the nightvale community bank branch evaporating last friday. he pauses before he continues, and changmin can almost hear the way he smiles.
“i will leave you all with a song, tonight - frank sinatra. who else? this one’s for my shim changmin, pretty and quiet in his tiny hotel room. this is ‘i’m a fool to want you’ by frank sinatra. i hope you all enjoy, dearest listeners. goodnight, goodnight, goodnight. this is jung yunho, of the nightvale community radio, signing out.” the orchestral notes of the song in question begin, and changmin feels like the world turns to black and white, painting his life in the scene of a 50’s romance film. if anybody, he’s the fool, he thinks. a fool in love.
○
today, changmin walks with the radio in his arms.
it’s desperately unconventional. earphones are far more appropriate considering they do not live in the 1800s. maybe they do. time doesn’t exist properly, here, between yunho and changmin and whatever lies in the space between their two physical forms. nightvale lies between them, as changmin passes through the town.
it’s long past sundown, and galaxies dance and sing in the night sky above him. maybe they’re just stars, or perhaps they’re small government drones that have detailed his body down to the last chromosome and are currently pumping out changmin-clones at every passing minute. he shrugs off the idea and thinks, stranger things have happened.
stranger things certainly have. like falling in love with a tiny, puppy-like radio host, who’s smile is like the sun shining, who has headphones perpetually around his neck like the world is not his oyster, rather his broadcasting station. like a demonic glow cloud falling in love with a bright barista from a hole-in-the-wall coffee shop and a six legged cat named babyhead.changmin hurries along, shy in the darkness. the broadcasting station is just up ahead. he turns the radio on, humouring himself, and his whole body relaxes at yunho’s gentle tone. changmin continues walking, heading for the station.
“the nightvale town election results are tomorrow!” yunho is saying, through the radio. changmin hums along, contended by it’s company, at the front door of the broadcasting station. up the stairs he goes, yunho’s radio voice and real voice mixing together into one as he ascends.
“seeing as our leaders have abandoned us, the stand-in councillors will step down tomorrow as our newest benevolent leader is announced. between you and me, dear listeners, i do believe that taemin - the large demonic glow cloud, for those who do not know, will take the cake. the cake being complete ownership of our tiny desert hamlet, isn’t that wonderful! another secret, since i’m so fond of sharing. somebody-“ yunho stops, pauses. for the first time he sounds unsure. or hesitant. his eyes find changmin at the door of the station, and changmin presses the off button on his old style hotel stolen radio with a thump.
yunho looks at changmin and changmin looks at yunho and the world bleeds pink between them.
“-somebody has taken the cake. also.” yunho clears his throat, leaning closer toward the mic, his big headphones only making him look abashedly cuter.
“this cake, being my heart. my heart has been swept up and gathered in the too-long arms of my too-tall shim changmin. i’m looking at him right now, dear listeners, and his eyes shine like the andromeda galaxy. for the first time, i’m going to wrap up a little bit early, because my boyfriend is here and we’re going to go get takeaway chinese and kiss underneath the stars.”
if changmin had ever thought he would never be capable of a love so monumental, that thought shatters the second the words leave yunho’s lips.
“so, dear listeners. this is the sweetest gift i can give to you, for now. i hope that who you are, wherever you are, are in love. because i am. goodnight, goodnight, goodnight. this is jung yunho of the nightvale community radio, signing out.”
when yunho meets him in the hallway, crinkled eyes, changmin laughs, and kisses him.and it is…exactly where he is supposed to be.