[CONTENTID2]The Fated Choice - Never Forget[/CONTENTID2]

[CONTENTID1]The snow covered ground marked by footsteps, was a clean white, the empty trees and stems gray, making it seem like time is frozen. A lone man sits in front of it all, tucked inside the iron railings, isolated by the gate in the quiet park.

The chilly breeze blows and Jiyong wraps his arms around himself in pursuit of warmth. He is cold even under six layers of clothing and his raspy breaths fog visibly.

He waits and waits and wishes that pain isn’t forever, that there is an end. He wishes that he will bloom again, like how these rose bushes will when spring comes.

He feels like a melting candle burning mid-winter, but there is no warmth; all meaning is lost.

He waits for day and night and time runs by him, leaving him broken with nothing but dust.

He lives like this every day, with no other purpose but tomorrow. He’s just waiting and more often than not, he will watch his stark ceiling. That or he will wait in the cold like this, because it is only then that he feels something other than desperation and hopelessness.

He can think like this, and his thoughts will range from but not limited to the wilted roses, the artificial sun or the snow-covered trees. It is on days like today when he braves the cold that he finds reason, that he feels he’s alive and breathing, or undead in the least.

It hurts almost physically, not having a chest he can lean into, a heartbeat turn into his lullaby, a hand to hold, and kisses to wake him up in the morning.

He doesn’t know how to react when he sees a very familiar figure walking towards him.

He wheezes even more and his heart races, unable to formulate coherent thoughts. First of all he questions his sanity for he isn’t sure if he’s seeing things or if he’s seeing. Then his mouth gapes, he blinks twice because he realizes that the figure is very real, even more so when he takes the seat beside Jiyong, a smile planted on his lips.

“Hi,” the man offers in his velvety voice, and Jiyong admits that his memory has failed him. His memory is wrong; it didn’t do the man justice.

“Hi,” it is barely louder than a whisper, and Jiyong falls breathless with just a word.

“You feel familiar,” the man continues.

Jiyong’s face falls.

It is today: that tomorrow he has been waiting for.

“Seunghyun,” Jiyong calls, his voice a little desperate and broken, like a croak. The man doesn’t notice and he looks at Jiyong with piqued interest.

“So we know each other,” Seunghyun concludes.

It is today that Jiyong realizes that tomorrow isn’t coming.

Why do things never go as planned?

Jiyong turns away. He has been waiting for today, but it turns out that today isn’t really today. Today is a failure and there won’t be a next time.

A man in a red coat enters the park, his walk looks tired to Seunghyun’s eyes, as if he’s dragging his feet. But as soon as he realizes that the man he’s coming for isn’t alone, his strides become rushed.

Up close, his hair is a mess, and the dark bags under his eyes are unmistakable. He looks so worn out.

“Ji,” Jiyong doesn’t notice Seungri’s arrival and he’s surprised by the sound of his voice. Seungri looks alarmed when Jiyong faces him, a tear welling up the latter’s eye.

Seunghyun watches their silent exchange, amazed at how two people seemed to communicate well without the presence of words. He stays seated as he watches everything unfold in front of him. Seungri looks at him, then back to Jiyong and he picks the latter up. It is then that Seunghyun notices the frail looking figure of Jiyong, his nose pink by the cold, and a tear on his cheek.

Why?

“Do you live around here?”Seunghyun feels the need to ask, and the two halts in their steps. Seungri slings a protective arm around Jiyong and he faces Seunghyun.

“Yes,” he smiles but he looks guarded.

“Can I come with you?”

Seungri turns to Jiyong for approval and receives nothing. He then nods to Seunghyun. “Sure,”

Seunghyun replies with a smile and stands up, he follows the two as they make their way out of the metal gate of the park.

“Do you know why this park is alive?” Seunghyun asks and he notices that Jiyong has his head down the whole time, his walk is unsteady and that Seungri seems to be his balance.

Seungri, on the other hand, wonders if Jiyong is breathing, because he doesn’t hear a sound of struggle from the man. He frowns at the slight improvement and wonders what caused it.

“What do you mean, alive?” Seungri asks, “It looks pretty dead to me,”

“The flowers are wilted unlike in other gardens where they are in full bloom all year.”

He noticed that.

“It is ordered that this place be spared from The Cure.”

“The Cure,” Seunghyun repeats as he watches his steps. They approach a building across his house and Seungri scans his hand to unlock the door. The door slides open and he is invited in.

“What do you know about The Cure?” Seungri asks and he leads them to the living room, a frail Jiyong under his arm.

“Actually save that for later,” Seungri motions Seunghyun towards the only couch in the room and he disappears with Jiyong into a hallway.

Seunghyun removes his coat and sits on the leather couch. He lets his eyes travel on the rather spacious but empty room. The walls are a cold gray and the ceilings white. The digital fireplace on the wall is the only thing memorable. There isn’t much detail, boring, Seunghyun deems.

“Where were we?” Seungri emerges from the hallway and walks to sit beside Seunghyun.

“The Cure,” Seunghyun muses. “It made me.”

Seungri looks at him, his face unreadable and then nods, but doesn’t ask further.

Seunghyun is a little disappointed at the lack of curiosity. He tells his story to anyone interested.

“I’m Seunghyun, by the way,” he holds out his hand for a handshake and Seungri willingly accepts.

I know, he thinks but just offers his name, “Seungri.”

“And the fragile looking one?” Seunghyun raises an eyebrow.

“Jiyong,”

“Is he sick?”

“You can say that,”

“Then what was he doing out in the cold?”

“Waiting,”

“For what?”

“It’s not my story to tell,” Seungri replies dismissively and looks out the window.

“How can he be sick when there’s The Cure?”

“Who knows?” Seungri replies and turns to Seunghyun, but means something else.

“Why does he know me?”

Why don’t you know him?

“You don’t know?”

“I don’t remember anything,” Seungri does not reply and Seunghyun talks further, “I feel like I know him though. It’s weird. I never had that sense of familiarity with anyone else,” Seunghyun feels like he’s talking to a wall. His questions are unanswered, his sentences aren’t replied to.

“What are you doing here?” Seungri’s question sounds frustrated.

Didn’t you invite me in?

“I don’t know. Looking for myself, I guess.”

“And you think you’d find it here?”

“I believe so.”

“Good luck with that.” Seungri is genuine, and he believes that the other man will find what he is looking for. It’s only a matter of time.

“Can I go see Jiyong?”

Seungri watches the gold sliver in Seunghyun’s eyes as it moves, and settles, then after a breath, he shakes his head. “Now’s not a good time.”

“That’s understandable.”

“If you don’t mind,” Seungri leads Seunghyun to the door.

“I’ll meet you again sometime,” Seunghyun says with certainty.

“He’s gone,” Seungri says to Jiyong who is sitting on a chair, wrapped in blankets, eyes glued to the falling snow outside.

The small window is the only source of light, failing to light the gray room completely, letting shadows dance in the darkness.

It feels like the world has stopped for him. It’s just him, Seungri and the snow, and nothing else. Time halts, but his clock still ticks, louder this time.

“He says he doesn’t remember anything,” Seungri offers.

“I realized,” his lips curl up into the littlest of smiles.

“I’m sorry,” Seungri walks towards the man under the blankets, and bends down, holds his face and kisses his golden hair.

Jiyong’s cheek is wet against Seungri’s hand.

Jiyong sniffs and his raspy breathing becomes audible to Seungri.

The younger man hates to see him like this because he can’t do anything about it. He can never be more than a friend. He’s just here, forever existing, but not quite. He isn’t Seunghyun. He can’t be Seunghyun. And the funny thing here is that Seunghyun himself can’t be Seunghyun.

“What is there to be sorry about?” Jiyong asks, and in his own head, he answers, a lot.

Seungri pulls away and sits on Jiyong’s bed. “All those months you waited without news because you wanted it to be a surprise. He looks exactly the same but he’s not him. It’s a failure.”

“Do you think I made the right choice?” Jiyong’s stare is cold, almost heartless, but Seungri knows it’s the best way to mask a shattered heart.

“What do you mean?”

“Is it right that I formulated The Cure?”

Is it right that I cut the loop that is life? Is it right that we don’t age and that we are immortal? Is it right that there’s no death? Is it right that I manipulated everything and played with life?Is it right that I breathed life into Seunghyun?

Is it worth it?

Seungri does not answer, but instead just watches Jiyong’s face as thoughts wrap around his mind.

The world was dying. Everything was coming to an end. The air was almost poisonous and the temperature was either too hot or too cold, and Jiyong came up with an answer.

Immortality: The Cure.

And the world resumed. It gravitated away from the burning sun, pulled away. It created light for its own, and the roses need not wilt, the people need not die. Everything was back to normal, and the world sustained life for everyone.

What can anyone ask for, when they have all the time in the world?

Death: That’s what Jiyong asks for. How can he take another breath, how can he live a life without his sole purpose, without Seunghyun?

He grimaces as he makes the decision. He tugs at Seungri’s arm, and tells him to ask Seunghyun to come tomorrow.

The disappointment in Seungri’s face isn’t evident, completely unseen but there, nonetheless. The dark bags under his eyes, his lazy stare and his messed up hair, all of that waiting to be seen, but Jiyong’s eyes are always on someone else.

My name is Seunghyun, too.

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