He groans when a bright light shines in his face. The senses are slow and lethargic, barely responding to the alarm elsewhere in his brain. When his body finally catches up to his mind, he sits up in bed and looks around. For a split second he’d thought someone was trying to force their way into the room, but there’s no one outside his windows.

No one, except the moon.

The return to pillows is as slow as his exhales. He closes his eyes again, and again cold light filters from a break in the clouds, landing squarely on his face. This time, he lets it sit on his skin like a lengthy thought. He lets it seep into his dreams, his memories, even his fantasies. And when the image is fully-formed inside him—a picture of two bodies, drinking tea holding hands sharing food—when he has ownership of the vision, he paints it the colour of midnight.

He won’t sleep again.

Coming back to earth was strange, like the end of a good night’s rest. The streets were too full, the bars and restaurants too loud. What he missed in zero g is what pushes him away, to the fringes of all the noise and life of this planet. This city, his place of birth, his home for all thirty-three years of his existence is… not what it used to be. The parks are still parks and the malls are still malls. But all the things that once rushed like the blood of his days, now seem cancerous and empty of any meaning.

He wishes his training had taught him more, included more. He wishes the agency had told him that the vacuum of space would follow him here.

“What does it mean to be loved?” he remembers asking. The answer to his life-long question had been so simple, he found it in the mouth of a man. A source so pleasant, he still feels it. With each press of his fingertips into the mattress the answer returns like an echo. Sweet. Warm. Gentle against the strain of seven billion other existences. But also certain of itself. Solid and concrete.

“What does it mean to be loved?” he’d asked and Tae had told him without the use of words.

The truth is, there isn’t a single soul on this planet that isn’t travelling through space. This is what really hurt. Chasing light speeds didn’t make Jon special. Being free of earth didn’t exempt him from the laws of thermodynamics. He still needed to eat. He still needed to keep time. He still slept and cried and missed home. And in the intervals, there was work.

Earth didn’t wait. It didn’t suspend itself so he could come back to the familiarities of his childhood. It moved like he moved—slower, yet faster and without pause. It moved at a hundred thousand kilometres per hour, per day. And while he lost count of the days, this place changed regardless of whether he followed suit.

This place changed. So did everything that made it worthy of a return. The songs Tae would tap his feet to, the birds he’d try to photograph in the park, the intensity of his laugh, the brightness of his eyes. Even the length of his gait changed, eventually shortening to a cane-assisted shuffle. The world grew up and grew old. It moved on.

Jon wanted to fly. And so he did. He wanted to soar. And so he did. He wanted to reach for the unreachable, achieve the unachievable. And so he did. He did everything he’d always wanted to, weaving reality from the gossamer of his dreams. His feet had landed on distant moons. His ambition had competed with the farthest stars. He’d filled his stomach to bursting on all the wonders of the universe.

And it made him happy. It gave his life the meaning and purpose he’d always craved. But it also took. It took away the smaller joys, the quieter victories. It deprived him from an inconceivable number of moments spent merely existing. He was happy, but only when he was alone. He was successful, but only when the world had no part to play in his success. He was brilliant and bright, but only when there was no one to witness it.

“What does it mean to be loved?” he’d wanted to know. Despite his knowledge of celestial secrets, he still understood too little of love, of loving and being loved; trusting and being trusted.

Tae, with his infinite kindness, had been willing to teach him. He had been here, loving, trusting, waiting. He had waited, all his life. He waited like he promised.

Does he regret it, Jon wonders as they sit across from each other, at a familiar table in a familiar home. Does he ever wish he’d lived without the weight of time holding him down? Because Tae wanted to fly too—once. He too wanted to soar. He too wanted to reach for that which is perpetually out of reach. Over the years, over the decades spent together and apart, Tae was also bright.

“I stole your light,” Jon murmurs, watching the tremble of a hand that closes around his own. “If only I’d stayed. That last mission… if only I’d said no.” He hangs his head low.

“I did this to you.”

“Should I ask you to fix it?” Tae chuckles, his face folded with age and wisdom. “If I did, you couldn’t, could you?” he nods slowly. “What does it matter now… you’re here. That’s enough.”

“How…?” Jon shakes his head, disbelieving. “How could I ever be enough after I… fucking left you?!”

“But you came back,” Tae calmly repeats. Or maybe he’s not Tae anymore. He has changed so much, all his stubborn anger, all his adamant huffs, all the ways he would make Jon give in—that Tae is gone. He faded with the years, leaving only the physical proportions of his memory.

“You’re enough because. That’s what I choose.”

The moon is full of reminders and recriminations. Every night, Jon atones by leaving the curtains open.