The fishing dock stretches out deep into the sea. Light grey clouds curtain the skies and envelop the scape with a dull glow. The waters are deathly still, nothing but the tips of calm waves breaking the surface. There’s a heavy silence here, as if the air carried voices, whispers and screams that too soon withered apart and fell into the wind, morphing into the howls and whistles that rattle your windows at night.

Mark takes a step forward, the wood creaks and cries from beneath him, the sound diving deep into the depths of the water below. He looks down at his bare feet, the skin pale and clean, and stretches his toes, finding there was no ache in them, no blisters or hardened skin. This is his body, he reassures himself, this is his.

He looks up, and takes in his surroundings with curiosity. He wasn’t afraid of this place, he’d been here before, whether it was in this body, or another, or both. The scent of the ocean was thick in the air, the taste of salt tickling the inside of his mouth. Mark allows himself to indulge in it for a brief moment before he hears the wood from below him groan again as another joins him on the dock.

Mark doesn’t move, he knows who is here, he know why he’s here.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” He murmurs from behind, his voice is like velvet and chopped wood, like purple silk wrapped around a wound.

“You always loved this place,” Mark replies, his eyes towards the sun, hidden behind rain clouds.

“You love it too,” He says, as a matter-of-fact, and Mark does not bother denying it.

“It’s not mine,” He whispers under his breath.

“It is yours, as much as it is mine,” Barrick says, meeting Mark on the dock shoulder to shoulder. Mark turns to look at him, he thought about resisting, but the fact he was here at all meant something inside him was chipping away at the edges.

Barrick’s wearing his usual dark bottoms and loose white tunic, the puffy arms rolled up, revealing a twisted burn mark that drags down from his wrist to his elbow. With the same arm, he lifts it and takes his hand to drag it through his bright blonde hair, it shimmers in the filtered sunlight, and Mark finds he can feel the hair tickling through the gaps of his fingers as if it were him brushing his hair.

“Why am I here?” Mark asks finally, bringing his eyes back to the sea.

“You tell me, it’s not as if I can drag you here, Mark,” Barrick says the words with a hint of sadness and Mark closes his eyes.

“Is it because of Jinyoung?”

“I don’t know-”

“But you know something?” Mark asks accusingly.

Barrick gives him a thoughtful look, his lips turned down a fraction. “I know you’re here because you’re lost. We have not met here since you were a child, when my memories had first surfaced.”

“I still see you though, even if we don’t meet-”

“We are always together, I know.” This seems to please him a little, and that irritates Mark but he doesn’t say anything about it.

“Something’s wrong…” Mark mutters, Jinyoung’s red eyes flicker in his mind and he feels the coast inside him crumble a fraction. “I don’t know if it’s a good idea to stay or not.”

“You would leave to protect yourself,” Barrick doesn’t say it like he’s accusing or judging him, he says it like he’s announcing what he already knows.

“There’s nothing for me to do for him,” Mark replies, as he had been telling himself for the last week, but by now the words seem unconvincing.

“You can feel it, can you not?” Barrick asks, staring at Mark’s side profile. “Something has changed.”

“What could possibly change?” Mark huffs, ruffling at his own hair in frustration. “We are nothing, nothing but bodies filled with memories that don’t belong to us. We’re a merry-go-round that never stops, we just keep going round and round and round.”

“Nothing stays the same forever,” Barrick replies and takes a step towards the edge of the dock, he tilts his head down as if he were preparing to dive in any second. “There is something deeper than what the two of us know, and it is the fear in both of us of the truth that keeps us from each other and from others.”

“I am a defect, I’m not supposed to remember you, that’s all there is...Barrick,” He says his name sweetly, painfully. For Mark loved him like you would love a brother, a brother he would and could never meet. In the end however that was what was most painful; to remember someone, to know how they worked and ticked, to know every twist in the thoughts that spiralled in their minds, and to only know them as a ghost made up of a clutter of memories. He did not exist, and he did, and it is the constant tug at these two very facts that tore Mark apart on the inside.

Barrick turns around and gives Mark a hard look, “You are not a defect just as much as a blind or a deaf man is not - just as much as some men cannot fathom the arts, and other men cannot understand mathematics - that is what makes them who they are, and you are simply you. You are you as you are me, with your restrictions and your freedom, you have my memories and I continue to live through you.
“You rejected me years ago, you blocked me out, and although my memories still swim in your veins you’ve learnt to burn them out too. I did not argue, I did not fight against it, because it is your life, and I have lived and I have died. But Mark...you are running from something that may finally have the answers you have been searching for.” He has two firms hands gripping Mark’s shoulder now, his misted blue eyes stare into him, into his mind, into his flesh and into his soul. “If there is one thing I beg of you to remember, it is do not regret. If there is anything my memories can give you, I beg of you to learn, learn to do everything you possibly can in the moment because when it’s gone, when they’re gone, and when you go, the regret lives like maggots from a corpse.” Barrick takes a deep breath, his sea-like eyes watering as he brings his palms to Mark’s face and then he let’s go.

Mark watches him as he turns back to face the sea, and he can feel him. Feel the way the wind tickles his temple, the way his throat closes off, the questions that skitter around his brain and nibble at his veins. Mark can feel it all as if he were in two places at once, two people at the same time. It’s suffocating, it’s heavy and Mark thinks of Jinyoung, Jinyoung and all the lives he’s living at once, all the deaths he’s feeling, the pain and the suffering, and he feels the waves hit at the coast harshly.

“Jinyoung…” Barrick says his name naturally, smoothly, like he’d spoken his name a thousand times before.

Mark stares at the back of Barrick’s head, “Do you know? Do you know who he is?”

“Yes, and no…” Barrick turns around, a contemplating look shrouds his angular face. “I know him just as much as he may know me, he is two people, three people, four people, he is many and he is himself.”

“But is he someone we know- you know, you knew from back then? From...Finland?” Mark asks, surprised at the desperation in his voice. “I thought I could tell, that if I were to meet someone, at least someone who remembered, I thought I could tell. I could tell with Hana...at least.”

Barrick stares at him with pity? With understanding? With sympathy? Mark couldn’t tell, his own emotions running rampant within him, blocking everything else out. “You could tell because you were a child, the memories were new and you had not learnt to block me out. Now however, you’ve separated yourself from me, it won’t be so easy.”

“But you know... don’t you? Who know who he is?”

Barrick doesn’t reply.

“Why won’t you tell me?” Mark clenches his fist by his side, his frustration building up the longer he stares at Barrick’s still face.

“I cannot tell you-no, I won’t tell you,” Barrick states flatly, and his honesty instantly snuffs out the anger inside Mark.

Mark’s shoulder go slack, “Why not?”

“Because we are more alike than you wish to admit, Mark.” Barrick says solemnly.

“I don’t understand,” Mark murmurs.

“Not now, Mark, not while you still fight a war within yourself - one step at a time. Decide what you want to do and then come back, I’m always here.” Barrick’s voice is weaved with pain and something else, something brittle and sour, and it seeps into Mark’s bones until it is a feeling that belongs to him to.

Mark doesn't know what else to say, and Barrick can sense it. Their time is up. So Barrick takes one hand to Mark’s cheek, delicately his skin as would a father to his son and then settles his hand onto Mark’s shoulder. “Remember, no matter how you may feel, no matter how tortured you become, there are feelings far worse, far more painful. And when you become the one to inflict them, you become everything you hate - so don’t regret, Mark, don’t regret.” He says finally and then pushes him, and as if the movement had summoned the wind, it drags Mark backwards, back off the dock and into the water.

He’s not scared when the water closes up above him, when the cold pricks at his nerves and the sea-salt fills up his lungs. Instead he thinks of Barrick, Barrick who was made up of his emotions, of his memories, of his regrets, who will wait on this dock staring out onto the sea, wishing a wish that not even Mark could hear.

Turku, 1827

Barrick wasn’t entirely sure what ‘dress appropriately’ really meant. He thought of his tux, the one Carl had bought him for the ball a couple of weeks ago and decided it would be far too extravagant for a dinner. Instead he wore a pair of tight-fitted trousers, his only pair of polished leather shoes, an ironed dress shirt and a vest, tightly fastened to hug his chest. There was only one mirror in the house, just outside of his bedroom door it hung, it’s frame slightly chipped and the reflection cracked just a fraction.

Sweat coated his palms as Barrick took a comb to part his hair to the side, gliding his golden hair back. His eyes wavered, the grey deepening around the blue iris as they seemed to do when he thought too much. He would be lying if he said he wasn’t nervous; there was something about Lady Henriikka that unsettled him with a feeling of both curiosity and fear. To be so beautiful and so ghostly, she was like a painting come to life, like a character right out of a book - you couldn’t take your eyes off of her, and yet you wanted to.

After finally feeling satisfied with his hair, Barrick dug into his vest and took out his pocket watch. It was a gift from Sir Bassi, for when he had turned eighteen, the only birthday Barrick remembered Sir Bassi being around for. Upon it a ‘B’ was carved in beautiful calligraphy and at the bottom the words: ‘start small’. Barrick gives its surface a delicate with his thumb and then goes to click it open. It was just past six, a rather appropriate time for dinner he’d say, but he wasn’t sure, there was no specific time on the invite.

So, instead, Barrick toured his small home, waiting for time to pass, and it passed, at an excruciating rate. The longer he was left idle the more he thought about why Lady Henrikka would want to meet him. He understood his teacher must have spoken about him, pleasantly he hoped, so maybe she was just simply curious? Wanted to put a name to the face? His heart thudded at the thought and he thought bashfully of the way he had faltered the moment she had laid her eyes upon him.

His worries and embarrassment quickly come to a halt at the distant sound of hooves and wheels against gravel. Barrick quickly makes his way out of his home, stuffing his keys and pocket watch into his vest pockets. The sun stood high in the sky, it’s surrounding clear of clouds and Barrick imagined the night was going to be dyed in a deep pink today.

It took a few moments before Barrick could actually spot the horses coming up the path towards the neighbourhood. A man in a top hat and a black coat stood to the back of the two-wheeled curricle, his whip high in the sky. The carriage was of a deep black, it’s wheels large on either side and it’s front open with enough of a hood to cover him from rain. Not that the weather that day would call for it.

Barrick slowly makes his way down the steps of his house and down the footpath where he and the carriage meet. Up close, Barrick makes out the coachman to be an old man, his dark beard speckled with white, the top of his head covered.

“Good evening Mr Barrick,” The man bowed, holding his top hat by the edge to keep it up. He gently steps off the back and heads to the opening of the carriage. “Would you like some assistance?”

Barrick blinked, mildly surprised on the spot. Although Barrick was familiar and conducted himself timely with those of higher status and wealth, it was very rare to be treated as one. Architects weren’t considered to that of politicians or lawyers, but with enough connections and the right sort of promotions, it was a simple progress to then make a title for yourself.

“Ah, no, thank you, I’ll manage,” Barrick finally seemed to force out. The coachman didn’t seem fazed by his momentary blankness and instead bowed again, waiting patiently for Barrick to enter the curricle.

“I am sorry for my tardiness but the Lady insisted that I do not leave before she is certain she is ready for your presence, she can be very...peculiar about certain things,” The coachman said as he went to check on the straps and reins of the two horses.

Barrick watched him for a moment before speaking, “Did she also tell you to mention it?”

The coachman’s mouth seemed to twitch a fraction from it’s pursed line, “No, she did not.” He says this almost with amusement and makes his way to the back of the curricle.

Without another word said, the coachman ripped his whip through the air and with a shout the horses started making their way back to the Lady.

Seoul, 2016

Mark’s standing in the history section of the university library with not a god-damn clue as to what he’s doing. Well, he knew what he wanted to do, he just didn’t know why he felt compelled to do it. He never did before. All the years growing up, all he did was try and pretend that he remembered nothing before his early childhood.

There was no Barrick, no Turku, no Finland. He stopped speaking Finnish, even though sometimes it felt more natural to him than it did Chinese or English, and he shut away the part of his mind that begged for reminiscence.

So, really, truly, honestly what was he doing in the far corner of the enormous library staring down a bookshelf of archives about architecture in Europe during the 19th century. He knew there was not going to be anything specifically on Finland during the early 1800’s so he’d hoped there’d be something on the Finland’s impact in architecture or something maybe that held names he’d be familiar with.

He wasn’t confident though, not confident about finding what he was looking for, not even confident about trying in the first place. He hadn’t wanted to admit it, in fact he was glad for it at a point, but it would seem that he did not remember everything about Barrick like he thought he did. In fact, somehow, it would seem Barrick was even holding things back from him. How that was possible, he wasn’t sure.

The emails were beginning to bother him. Like a projector flipping through slides of a power point, his mind took turns to worry and contemplate on different matters. After waking up this morning, all Mark could think about was the painting that had been attached to the first email. He recognised the Aura river, and the remains of the Turku cathedral but it was all burned down, what was once tall building reduced to rubble and ash.

He didn’t know what twisted at his stomach more, the site of what was once a beloved city or the very important fact he didn’t remember it happening. It was dated 1927, it was a year Mark was very aware of, just as the years before but that’s where it ends; Barrick’s memory seems to fracture in his mind, scenes, people appear in blotches in his mind's eye. It stung almost to probe at it - he never had to force himself to remember before, instead settling to ignore whatever he did remember. He remembers Barrick dying-no, he remembers the feel of death, the moments before, the pain and the emotions that swam through him, but he didn’t actually remember how he had died.

The more Mark thought about it, the more distressed he became - if by some malfunction in the order of things Mark remembered a past life, why couldn’t he remember it all? Was he not meant to? Or was Barrick preventing something?

Mark takes a hand to his forehead and sighs outwards as if it’d expel the anxiety that writhed in his chest. He thought coming here would help, but he realises now as he looks upon the hundreds and hundreds of books that this was just going to confuse him more, scare him even.

So he turns on his chuffed heels, and twists his way out of the maze of shelves, not touching a single book spine as if they’d somehow set him on fire. He never liked libraries, or books, which is hilarious for a philosopher but learning about the world and questioning it were two different things, and Mark feared knowledge like you would a rattlesnake in the desert.

It’s when he recognises the astronomy shelves does Mark know he’s closer to the exit, except the astronomy section is made up of three aisles, and the one he decides to go through takes him towards the study area where hundreds of desks and chairs are lined up like soldiers in units. It wasn’t the exit, but it wasn’t suffocating.

Mark rubs at the back of his neck, the muscles stiff beneath his skin. He couldn’t relax, there was a feeling of being watched, as if the books behind him were just going to rumble out of their slots and explode, like the words trapped in their paper and covers were going to scratch their way out and scream into the air. He stood still for a while, waiting almost, but no matter how many seconds ticked by (and Mark was counting) there was just the distant hum of the air conditioner and the soft whispers and steps of others ghosting through the library.

“Professor?” A voice, like slick honey, and velvet whispers closely. A title, a word, and somehow it causes shivers to run down Mark’s spine and raise the thin hairs on his arms. He takes a deep breath and looks over his shoulder to find Jinyoung trapped between the shelves, books looking down at him, their shadows try to drown him in darkness but there’s a spark in his eyes that won’t so easily be snuffed out.

Mark clears his throat and rolls out his shoulders, his muscles protesting against the movement - he’d been neglecting his warm ups and exercise routines lately, and his body was not happy about it.

“Jinyoung…” Mark replies with a nod, he couldn’t tell if he had purposely lowered his voice or if the ambience in the library muted him down.
“What are you doing here?” Jinyoung asks, stepping out from between the shelves and into the open space of the study area where the large windows leaked in sun, the dying orange light illuminating him.

Mark hadn’t seen Jinyoung since he had left Insook’s house that morning, and since then Mark has been avoiding him - it was subconscious at first, but the way his body would jerk at the sight of him and the way his throat would dry up at the mere presence of him started to sound too much like a siren in Mark’s head, and then he was conscious.

“I should be asking you that question,” Mark chides, hoping the twitch in his face wasn’t too obvious. He felt out of control, like he was in his body and he wasn’t, even though he thought the words he spoke, it was as if someone else’s mouth was moving for him.

“I do study, Professor,” Jinyoung laughs, it’s a melodic sound and it echos’ Mark’s head. There was something bittersweet about the honest smile that wraps Jinyoung’s face, a smile you could feel in his shoulders, and his posture - it was both fascinating and painful to watch. How a man could understand suffering to the depths of it’s corners and still find himself laughing.

They are similar, are they not? Barrick’s voice is clear in Mark’s head and it jolts him on the inside, and he realises now the stiffness in his body is not due to a lack of activity. Something has changed, Barrick had said, and he was right. Mark could feel it, could feel the second heartbeat, the pulses, the blood running through his veins that were his but also not.

“I’m sorry I lied,” Jinyoung suddenly confesses, the look on his face meant that Mark had missed his chance to respond. “I saw you in the hallway and followed you in, I wanted to call out to you but something...kept stopping me.” He admits, his cheeks a very slight pink now in the sunlight.

Mark sees him and he sees someone else; deep black hair, eyes full of sparks, a laugh that could make you think hope wasn’t just a bottomless pit. He didn’t like this feeling, this deep, glooming sense of detachment to himself, he found himself clinging to something; the way Jinyoung’s eyebrows arch, the way his eyes took Mark in with wonder and curiosity, and a question, there was a question in his eyes and it spilled into the air, and injected into the spaces that made up Mark.

Mark swallows hard and bites the inside of his cheek in hope the pain will bring him back to the ground, but he couldn’t help it, he felt Barrick moving, his memories folding over with a new strength Mark didn’t realise was still inside him. Something was reacting, his insides churning, his mind splitting in two and the longer he stared at Jinyoung, the worse it got.

“Professor, you look kind of out of it, are you ok?” Jinyoung asks, and Mark clenches his jaw at the sound. There was something odd, the sound of his voice, the way his eyes fluttered, the way he parted his lips to breathe, they were his, his movements and it was his voice and it wasn’t.

What had happened? Did meeting Barrick on the docks change something? Has Mark changed? Questions stampede on the inside of his skull, and if there was such thing as a soul, Mark could feel it fight and cling and cry from within him.

Jinyoung begins to look worried and Mark realises somewhere in the darkness that he needs to speak. “I’m...fine,” Mark breathes between his teeth. “Just a little hot.”

“You look cold,” Jinyoung says it like you would make a note when observing something. “Do you have a fever?” Disastrously, catastrophically, Jinyoung brings his palm to Mark’s forehead, his skin was so cool against Mark but it hurt. Electricity ran from where their skins touched and Mark could feel it shoot through his veins and run with his blood.

Jinyoung jumped back, flicking his hand, “! What was that?”

Mark leans slowly into the shelf beside him, he could feel his jaw threatening to chatter and his fingers tingle with fire. “It was probably just static.” Mark says low and prays, wishes, begs for some sort of strength to get him out of here and into his office where he could crumble into the ground and let the earth drink in the storm that was brewing inside him.

Jinyoung snorts looking at his hand, “It felt more like a short circuit.”

Mark tries to laugh but it comes out strangled, and before Jinyoung can catch just how much Mark feels like crashing into the ground, making a crater for a home, long pair of arms wrap around Mark and grip him tightly from behind.

“What you guys doing?” Youngjae asks from beside Mark. He’s looking pristine today; he’s wearing his favourite brown trousers with a white button shirt tucked in, a bowtie is neatly fastened around his collar and his hair is blown and styled to the side. The round circle glasses on his face are perfectly aligned on his nose and his eyes glimmer brightly from behind the lenses. “It’s all deserted here, having a secret rendezvous?”

Jinyoung looks up, blinking in surprise at Youngjae’s sudden entrance. Mark silently thankful for the diversion in attention leans into the shelf a little more, trying to keep the look on his face casual - he doesn’t miss Youngjae’s grip tighten on his arm.

“Professor, a rendezvous, without you?” Jinyoung smirks, and it’s meant to look mischievous, but it’s edges are soft and Jinyoung instead looks a little sad, the setting sun whispering warmth from behind him.

“You’re not actually studying, Jinyoung, are you?” Youngjae fake gasps and goes to nudge Mark.

“No, he was just following me around like a puppy,” Mark forces the chide and then inwardly winces at the flash of hurt that passes Jinyoung’s face. He instantly regrets it, but the regret doesn’t linger long enough before the hollowness him in. Mark thinks he’s just going to buckle into the ground but Youngjae’s elbow digs into his back and he presses his side tight against Mark.

“How mean…” Jinyoung forces the laugh. His eyes look distant, but not the kind of distant where he’d wonder in his memories but rather where his own thoughts seem to obstruct his vision for a moment. “Well, you guys must be busy - I have a class too, I’ll see you later Professor?” He says it towards Mark, and there’s the sound of hope in his voice and Mark doesn’t understand what it means, or how to respond, and even if he did, he didn’t have any strength left than to nod.

The two professors stand side by side for a moment, watching Jinyoung trudge as he heads down the study space, disappearing into an aisle, and then Mark falls.

“Woah, you okay?” Youngjae asks, bending down on his knees.

Mark takes a deep breath, and closes his eyes. Instantly he feels better; the weight of keeping his body up took more toll on him than the feeling of having his insides split. “I’m fine, I’m fine,” He tries to reassure Youngjae, but the colour drained from his face and the cold sweat that stuck to his skin betrayed him.

Youngjae gives him a skeptical look and sighs, “You weren’t looking so good in the conference room either. Thought it was the heat but it seems you may have a fever. You want to go to the nurse?”

Mark shook his head vigorously, whatever was going on, it wasn’t something medicine could fix; he could feel it. “No, it’s okay, I just need to get to my office and nap for a bit, help me out?”

Youngjae gives him a soft smile and Mark is overcome with a warm feeling; he seems to forget often that he was not always as alone as he felt. Youngjae brings Mark’s arm over his shoulder and with a short grunt, the two of them rise to their feet. “It’s good I came when I did.”

“What are you doing here anyway?” Mark huffs, putting most of his weight on Youngjae’s side.

“It’s got to be odd, right? That you’re even questioning why a professor is in a library in the first place,” Youngjae laughs heartily and Mark would join him if he didn’t feel so weak.

Luckily the hallways are empty, most of the classes are in session and there’s nothing but a few curious eyes as the two of them head towards Mark’s office. It’s a short distance, just down the length of two halls, which is as close as you could get from one point to another in this university that seems to go on forever.

Youngjae shuts the door behind them and settles Mark quickly into one of the sofas. The leather squeaks from beneath his weight and Mark melts into the tightness. “Jesus,” He breathes and lets his eyes flutter shut.

“You sure you’re fine?” Youngjae’s voice is distant, or at least sounds like it is. “Mark?”

“Hmm?”

“You’re worrying me, I think I should call Nurse Kim-”

“No, no nurses-” Mark mumbles. “I just need some sleep.”

Youngjae makes a displeased noise, and shuffles on his feet. Mark can hear his breathing, feel his presence like he were dreaming it; reality slipping away ever so slowly. He doesn’t feel afraid, in fact he welcomes the darkness and floats within it like debris in the universe.

Then the pain hits; like a lightening bolt, it hits him with such a force his spine snaps in two and his chest lunges forward. Electricity and heat runs down his arms and his legs, and cooks his flesh from under his skin. Theres the smell of heat and the taste of glue in his mouth- the world crashes upon him and his bones break under the force. There was pain like he had never imagined, pain like the marrow in his bones had turned into molten and he was melting from the inside out.

Mark, it’s okay, a soft voice whispers somewhere in the darkness. The voice wraps around him like a blanket. It’s okay, it’s okay. It comforts him, it distorts him and twists; the pitch dips and peak. It was Youngjae, it was Jinyoung, it was Mihyun, it was Barrick, it was his mother and his father, it was Hana and it was his sister. It’s made of screams and crackling fire, it’s the sea before a storm and it’s the taste of blood.

“Mark...wake up.”

He doesn’t want to; lost in the vastness and heavy by the pain, Mark simply wants to slip away into stardust and flicker away. However something grabs at his hand, a rope tightening around his wrist, a cuff clicking, chains clanging - he can’t leave. Somehow he’s known this at the back of his head. He couldn’t leave, not because he shouldn’t, not because he wouldn’t, but because he couldn’t. Not if he had all the power of the world, nothing could take him away now.

Barrick knows this too, he always knows; he understands Mark more than Mark understands himself. He said something had changed, but he twisted his words, nothing had changed but he knew something was going to and it slammed into Mark like a train skidding down the tracks.

There was a laugh bubbling in them, or maybe it was just Barrick but it boils and pours out the pot and it ripples through Mark. There was nothing humorous about the feeling of losing yourself, losing a half of your mind to a ghost who didn’t belong to this world just as Mark did not belong to his. Or maybe it was a triumphant victory for Barrick.

Do not think like that, I only wish to protect you, Mark-

You wish to live again.

I do not...there is nothing for me here.

You will make something for yourself - if there is one thing I am sure of that runs deep in my veins it is your thirst for creation.

Whether you believe me or not, Mark - I had not planned to become part of you. The world has brought us together, and I have never been more sure of what I have to do now then I did when I was alive.

You do not exist.

But I live. And I am here. And for the things I could not do while I was alive, I will do for you.

I am not your second chance.

No, you are not. Rather, you are my chance at redemption.

Give me back my body.

You misunderstand, Mark - I did not force myself in...you let me in.

Mark awakes with a gasp, blinded by white. He feels his eyes roll in his head with ache and his chest burns with every breath he takes in.

“Oh jesus christ he’s awake.” Youngjae’s voice has never sounded so crystal clear before and it almost hurts Mark to hear it. “Mark, Mark, are you okay?”

“What happened?” Mark grumbles, his body light with dizziness.

“Oh my, thank you God,” Insook’s prayers dance in the air. “Thank you God.”

“Ahjumma?” Mark calls out and let’s his head lay slack to the side where Youngjae and Insook stand an inch apart from each other. Youngjae looks down at him with wrinkles embedded with worry and Insook has her face in her palm, whispering.

“Are you okay?” Youngjae asks, settling a delicate hand on the bar of the bed. Mark makes an indication to sit up but his hands give up on him and he slips back. Youngjae is quick to grab him and pull him upwards, his hand ghosting around Mark, looking prepared for him to topple to the side at any moment.

“Are we in a hospital?” Mark’s voice is thick and hoarse in his throat, and he realises now he’s dying of thirst.

“Yes…” Youngjae cautiously says as if he wasn’t sure how to continue the sentence.

Mark’s face drops, “Am I dying?”

Youngjae’s face drops with his, but more so in confusion than devastation. “What? No, no-jesus christ, Mark it’s...well, it’s not entirely wrong.”

“Excuse me?”

Insook is there then, an oddly soft hand settles onto his shoulder and Mark knows it’s meant to be an act of comfort but he can’t help but stiffen. He stares up at the two of them, and they both seem to avoid his look. Youngjae chews on his lip for a few moments before he takes in a deep breath.

“There’s no easy way to say this Mark but…” He takes another deep breath and now Mark was getting impatient.

“But what?”

You died. Barrick says, his voice so loud and clear it was if he was in the room with them. Mark shivers and in a sharp breath. “I died?”

Youngjae’s eyes flicker with shock, “Yes...yes you died.”

“How? What? I don’t- I just remember falling asleep.” Mark mumbles, his hand finding it’s way into his hair, he’s tugging at the roots as if the pain could prove whether he was really alive or not.

“You fell asleep…” Youngjae’s voice shook ever so slightly. You wouldn’t have noticed if you didn’t know him well enough. “And I watched you for a while, I was worried and then suddenly it just seemed like you stopped breathing. I called the ambulance immediately and they told me you had no pulse - jesus, Mark, you died. If it wasn’t for the paramedics coming as fast as they did…” Youngjae’s voice trails off and Mark isn’t aware as to whether he just stops talking or he’s zoned out.

You died, Mark. Your heart stopped beating and you left this world. You wondered another and you floated and you felt at peace because there isn’t anything there. There’s no other, no death, no life - existence becomes nothing but a word. And even words are scarce over there. You died, and you returned not as one but as two. Your heart beats for a person who has long forgotten what a pulse feels like and you share your thoughts with a ghost, but it’s okay. It’s okay, Mark, don’t be afraid. After all you’ve been here before, you’ve been here many times - you have forgotten, and you have kept forgetting, but finally something has changed. Something has changed and you remember - you may not remember it all, but it’s okay because this is just the beginning. Live Mark, not just for yourself but for those that now make up your cells, and swim in your blood, and thrive in your nerves. Live for them all, for they have all died waiting for this moment.

Suddenly confusion is no longer an option, questions don’t trample upon his brain and his breath settles calmly into his chest. He may not be sure what has happened or what’s going to happen, both the past and the future a muddle of impossibilities but he is not afraid. The fog Mark has been settled in for over half his life seems to disperse and everything comes into his mind’s eye with focus and sharpness; he takes in the space around him like a new light has been switched on, and everything is clear.

Clear and clean as would the wiping of a layer of steam from a window, as you would clean a shelf of the dust; all the worries and anxiety seems to melt away and there’s only Mark. Mark who is clear of two very specific things, the first is that he needs to find Jinyoung. He wasn’t sure why, he didn’t question why, he just feels it inside, felt the need as natural as a bee to a flower.

The second was a far more complicated concept, a combination of complicated facts even - again, he wasn’t sure how to come of it, or how to understand it but there was a feeling inside him that doesn’t let the possibilities scare him, like the calm waves upon the Aura river.

Thank you Mark. Mark hears his voice, a nostalgic sound - so clear inside his head. He remembers the same voice comforting him of the nightmares that tortured him when he was young, he remembers the voice whispering apologies like he breathed oxygen, he remembers it so vividly he couldn’t imagine he’d forgotten in the first place. Barrick is here, whether in the past, or the present or the future - Barrick is alive and he brings change with him.