Prompt By: @xiu21chen99

-Title: Through The Fragments of Reality

-Ship: XiuChen

Characters: [MAIN] Chen/Kim Jongdae (EXO), Xiumin/Kim Minseok (EXO) [SIDE] Park Chanyeol (EXO), Miora Andriamihaja (OC), D.O/Do Kyungsoo (EXO), Heo Solji (EXID), Oh Sehun (EXO), Lay/Zhang Yixing (EXO), Lee Hyeri (Girl's Day), Chuu/Kim Jiwoo (LOONA), Yoo Jeongyeon (TWICE), Lee Hayoung (PLAYBACK), Shin Hyejeong (AOA), Jang Dongwoo (INFINITE), RM/Kim Namjoon (BTS), U-Kwon/Kim Yookwon (Block B), Yura/Kim Ahyoung (Girl's Day), JiU/Kim Minji (DREAMCATCHER), Seola/Kim Hyunjung (WJSN), Suho/Kim Junmyeon (EXO), Yoon Bomi (APink), Byun Baekhyun (EXO)

Word Count: 15017

Warnings: Strong language; mentions of the occult; implied ual references; details of a syringe injection; mentions of gun violence

Summary: In which Kim Jongdae wakes up in a different time period every time, until Kim Minseok shows up, adding more insanity to Jomgdae's already hectic reality.

 

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In this story, slang terms from the future are used to replace ones used in the past or currently used today, so I've laid out all that have been used here. Anything else used is from current day or the past, mainly the 1920s.

Pengy - friend

Guai - strange

(worked the) daki-daki - (worked out the) details

Cling it - hold on, hang on, to wait 

Flott - cool, great

Capire - kapeesh, understand 

(don’t be so) sovi - don’t make a big deal, be difficult, piss baby

Dewa - an exclamation of surprise; ‘Oh my gosh’

Polovina tam - to be drunk, wasted 

Tracted - to get sidetracked or distracted 

 

---

 

Every time I wake up, I’m somewhere else. Not someone else - I’ll always be Kim Jongdae, no matter where or when I am, whether it be 1878 Mississippi or 2437 Tokyo, everyone calls me that, and no one ever questions it. 

 

There are few things I know. I know I’m Kim Jongdae, and I know every time I wake up, I’ll be somewhere else (I can’t say every day or every morning when I wake - sometimes I wake in the middle of nowhere or in the middle of the night. There is no greater fear than waking up in a grassy field next to a brachiosaurus eating next to you in the dark, no light but the moon). I know someone - or something - is making me do this. I’m being controlled by something. My only belongings are a backpack, that no matter where I go or where I come from, no matter what happens to it, it and everything I had in it that day (or night I guess) comes with me next time I wake. 

 

In my backpack is a notebook. This is why I know something is controlling me. The notebook looks thin, but it holds almost every date in history, from 250 million years ago with the dinosaurs (arguably when human life was first able to be sustained) to December 31st, 2999, although I’ve never been that far. The furthest I’ve been is May 27th, 2437, and that wasn’t very fun. The Japanese are merciless.

 

I get the date as soon as I wake, and I write it on my arm. Sometimes I just know the date, but I feel better when I ask. Next time I wake, I write what happened that day, and if I have time before I sleep, if the situation calls for it, I’ll write then. This helps me keep track of what I’ve done and where I’ve been, and, so far, I’ve never been to the same day twice. Close, though - Day 202 was June 6th, 1862 England. Day 407 was June 5th, 1862, but in different parts, despite being close. 

 

I also know that no matter what happens to me, the next time I wake, everything’s Jake. I don’t need to eat, and I don’t know how much sleep I’m getting, but I don’t think I need much - I never feel tired. Wounds inflicted from one day never carry to the next, unless they’re self-inflicted - that’s why I have a burn on my right forearm and a scar on my left palm. I don’t need to shower, but I like the way it feels. There’s nothing like taking a shower in 2005 Toronto after being stuck in 1348 England for three days.

 

Yeah, that’s a thing. Sometimes I get stuck in one place for awhile. The longest I’ve been is eight days in New York in 2014. I was with some girl, and I swear she was on her period the entire time. That was a slow eight days. 

 

I don’t know what I was or what happened before this. I just remember waking up one day in a different time period, and I just go about as if it’s normal everyday. I know there was a before - someone doesn’t just wake up 26 years old. But then again, I wake up in a different time period every time, so maybe I did. 

 

I didn’t know whether there were others like me or not. I knew myself and myself only, and briefly, those I was around for a day or so, but never anyone solid, never anyone I could always rely on or always go back to. No family, no friends. It sounds lonely, and sometimes it is, but new people everyday is exciting, and there’s always something I’m caught up in, so I don’t really have time to feel lonely.

 

I thought I was the only one like me, until today.

 

I wake up in Paris. I’m in a hotel, and the morning sun leaks through the window when I draw back the curtains, revealing a picturesque view of the city. The Eiffel Tower is close, and the roofs of buildings pop up around it.

 

I’ve been to Paris a few times. The last time was day 437, on October 16th in 1793. I was there when Marie Antoinette was guillotined. It was chilling and haunting to watch Sanson hold her head up afterwards, and the cheers of the crowd. I was an aid to the priest, which was still kinda balled up, but better than being jostled and beaten in the crowd.

 

My room key is set on a table, next to a landline hotel phone. The small screen displayed ‘2019-27-05’ and ‘08:43’. My bag is leaned on the table leg below it, and I rifle through it for my pen, scribbling the date and time down on a hotel notepad before showering. Like I said, I don’t really need to shower, but I wanted to. It felt right.

 

The water’s warm, unlike yesterday in Arkansas; the water was freezing, and I’m sure I would’ve caught pneumonia if I stayed any longer. 

 

The hotel shampoo and body wash is crappy. It has little to no smell to it, and whatever smell it does have is plastic-y and kind of floral, but not like plastic flowers. Those smell funky, and not a good kind of funky. They smell like panther piss. 

 

Afterwards, I write the date again on my arm, just for good measure. Something tugs at me, saying I’ll need it later. I’ll likely forget about the hotel notepad, but again, for good measure, I rip the note off and stuff it into my bag along with my room and head out. There seems to be no one else in my room, so whoever I’m with today must be waiting elsewhere for me. I make sure my room is locked and wander around for a moment trying to find not only the breakfast room, but the elevator as well. The food in Paris is always delicious, and I once took the train on day 734 from Amsterdam to Paris in 2036 just to eat here. 

 

The breakfast room is small, and there’s a handful of people eating at tables there. Normally, it would be a small amount of people, but due to the size of the room, it appeared slightly crowded.

 

The room had a nice aesthetic - blue walls and dark carpet matched with white trim and white tablecloths. There was a long table along the back wall, covered in trays of food and two coffeemakers, squished between two doors. One was propped open, leading to the kitchen, and the other was locked, but both were painted white.

 

The rest of the room was rows of tables, seats on either side, and left me to navigate between them to the food. I pick a small plate, scooping a small bit of whatever looks good.

 

Before I can try and find a spot properly, a man stands up briefly, flagging me down. “Kim Jongdae!” he calls. 

 

He wore a collared plaid shirt, a white shirt underneath. He had paired these with a pair of jeans ripped at the knees so they hung low, exposing his shins and part of his thigh. His ashy blond hair was pushed to either side, being parted down the middle, but bounced back, creating waves in front of his face.

 

“Where were you yesterday?” he asks as I sit down.

 

I’m used to hearing this question, but the way he says it is a little odd. Most times when I hear it, it’s a hiss, an accusation, bubbling anger, but the way he said it, it was casual, as if to pick my brain purely because he could.

 

I have to be careful with him. Either he’s a great actor, or a genuine, darb person.

 

I have to be careful either way - one slip up and boom - butterfly effect. I have to try and keep history on track as much as I can. Yeah, maybe I told Laura Secord about the British in 1812 Canada. Maybe I didn’t. But I can sure as hell tell you the world would be a hell of a lot different if I hadn’t. 

 

“Oh, you know,” I said flippantly, resting my head in my hand as I picked at my plate. “Around.”

 

The man rolled his eyes, and then leaned in closer, dropping his voice. “I mean, where. For real.”

 

“I already told you.”

 

“For real, Jongdae. I know. Nazi Germany? Choson Dynasty? Olmec civilization?”

 

My eyes widened, and fear settled into my chest as I realized what this guy was alluding to. He really did know. I was at a loss for words, unsure of what to say. Nobody had ever said anything like that to me, and I didn’t know how to respond. What if I revealed the truth to me? What if he was some time travelling government official from 3274 here to arrest me for indirectly shooting Abraham Lincoln (long story)? Or for accidentally bringing the phrase ‘cut the gas’ to the 1950s?

 

“Why don’t we talk about this somewhere else?” he asked, standing up. “A little more private.”

 

I felt as if I had no better choice but to take the hand he offered me and let him lead the way back to the elevator.

 

“I’m Kim Minseok, by the way.” he said as he jabbed at the elevator button, and when the doors opened, we got on, it being just us two. “There’s no cameras; no one listening. But I know who you are, what you do. I’m like you.”

 

As the elevator rose, I stayed quiet.

 

“You can talk, you know. I know you’re able to.”

 

“You’re strange.” was all I could say, all that came to mind. Great first impression, Jongdae.

 

I couldn’t help but find this man - Kim Minseok - attractive, and I hated it, but I did so anyways. He had such beautiful, distinct features, features that contrasted my own. His features were softer; his chin and his jaw, his nose, his eyes. Mine were much sharper. I was taller than him, but not by much; maybe it was the soles of our shoes or a trick of the mirror that lined the elevator. 

 

The elevator doors opened, and once again, he took my hand, leading me out and down a hall. He took my hand so casually, as if he didn’t know that made my heartrate pick up. I just hoped he couldn’t feel my palms start to sweat - or was that his? Nope, definitely mine. 

 

As he led me down the red carpeted hall, we didn’t speak, but I did notice he also shouldered a backpack, almost, if not, identical to mine. 

 

He stopped abruptly, nearly sending me crashing into him. Was it bad that I kind of wanted to?  An excuse to say something, an excuse to touch him (not in that way, you ). I would lay my hands on his shoulders (maybe his chest, depends) gently, mutter a, “I’m sorry,” and he would tell me not to worry about it, and our faces would be close, close enough to feel his breath…

 

“Give me your bag.” Minseok said, tugging on the strap over my shoulder. 

 

I was standing in what must’ve been his hotel room when he shook me from my thoughts, taking my bag from me and setting it on the floor and rifling through it.

 

“Hey!” I cried, but didn’t move. “That’s mine!”

 

“I know.” was his only reply as he took out my notebook - ! - and set it on his bed, opening it to the first page. “Holy, you’ve been far back.”

 

“I know. Only slightly terrifying.”

 

He flipped to the end of the book, scanning for the date. “!” he hissed.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, coming to sit beside him on the bed. It was a little strange for me, not gonna lie, but I felt too awkward and out of place to just stand there. He didn’t seem to mind.

 

“Your last date is December 31st, 2999.”

 

“Is that bad?”

 

“I’m not sure yet.”

 

I sighed. I still didn’t know what Minseok wanted from me (although I knew what I wanted from him - yes, like that you ), and now was going through my things and failing to give me an explanation. Was I being arrested? Were we in danger? 

 

Minseok took out another notebook, again, similar to mine, and laid it out next to it, also flipped open to the last page. The date ‘December 31st, 3624’ was inked carefully at the top, but the entry was empty, as was mine.

 

“This is my notebook.” Minseok explained, pointing to his.

 

“I got that.” I had questions that needed answers, but that wasn’t one of them.

 

“I’m like you. A dia lavitra. Yesterday I was in 3068 Soyuz. Not as frightening as it once was.”

 

“You can go that far?” I gaped. 

 

He nodded. “Further. See?” he pointed to his notebook, gesturing to the exact date. “But it might be different here.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“Think of it like this.” He held his two pointer fingers out, one over top of the other. “Time is linear. For most people, it goes like this.” He moved the top finger to right, so his fingers were no longer parallel. “But for us, it’s more like this.” He moved his finger back and forth, indicating our time jumps. “But then, time also works like this.” He brought his two fingers together so his knuckles touched, but the fingers themselves left a gap between. “There’s different timelines, different courses. Sometimes caused by a small change, others large. The butterfly effect.”

“That’s why we have to be so careful when we travel.” I added. “To not mess anything up.”

 

“Yes, but we also have to do things to keep history on track. Whether it’s actually shooting Abraham Lincoln or telling John Wilkes Booth to do it, Lincoln still gets shot in the end. But then there’s little differences.” Minseok got up, walked across the room, opening one of the curtains. “What’s up with your Notre Dame?”

 

“It burned down about a month or two ago I think.”

 

“See, mine’s completely in tact.”

 

This took me a second to process, as I mulled it over a few times. “So if we’re on different timelines,” I started. “Does that mean you’re in mine?” Minseok nodded. “How did you get here?”

 

Minseok shrugged. “Not sure. That’s what I’m trying to figure out. You’re a mysterious one, Kim Jongdae. Hard to get ahold of.”

 

“I don’t have a phone.” I admitted. I had tried to buy one around day 50, but the next day I ended up in 1644 China, and it was gone. I assumed it would appear again when the phone had been invented, but it never did. I never bothered to buy another one; I never had any use for one.

 

Minseok leaned back, his back against the wall as he bit his lip. “What day did you say you were on again?”

 

“1,778.”

 

He sighed again, rolled his eyes, as if I was throwing him around the wringer, as if everything was purposefully my fault. 

 

“You’re one of the first, aren’t you?”

 

“I-I don’t know.”

 

“What do you remember from before?”

 

“Nothing.”

 

“Really? Try. Try real hard.” Minseok leaned forward, resting his arms on his legs. “Really focus and concentrate. Anything? A mother? Parents, siblings, friends? No matter how vague.”

 

I squeezed my eyes shut, close and tight, trying to retreat to the back recesses of mind. Trying to think back to those first few days, the initial confusion and fear.

 

It was hazy, as if clouded by fog, a dirty window, a thick bridal veil. There were only shadows behind it, silhouettes with their details and features hidden from me. They were oblong and misshapen, stretched out like shadows.

 

The first shape was a woman, presumably a mother. My mother? She reached down, clutching something, coming closer and closer to the veil, until she engulfed it and disappeared, and two smaller figures appeared, presumably children, running around, weaving in and out and in front of each other. Faint laughter. 

 

It was like waking up every day, I had this feeling, this instinct, as if I just knew, and always had. One of those children was me, the smaller one, and the taller one was, at least, a brother figure, if not one. 

 

When I opened my eyes, Minseok was dangling off of the bed, his feet trailing up the wall.

 

“I think I had a brother. And a mother.”

 

“Flott. Anything else?”

 

“No.”

 

Minseok sighed again, bringing his feet off the wall and flailing around for a moment to sit up properly. “Come take a walk with me. I have some things to figure out.”

 

“That’s an understatement.” I puffed, letting Minseok grab my hand again and pull me up. He tossed me my bag with his free hand, and with my own I shouldered it, and he did the same.

 

“I’m still so lost, just so you know.’ I told him, still holding his hand, leaning against the back wall of the elevator as it descended. I 

 

He shot me a confused glance, frowned, and then looked away. “You have questions.”

 

“Now you’re on the trolley.” I rolled my eyes.

 

“Ask away.”

 

“First, I thought you wanted to talk about this somewhere more private. The streets of Paris seems more like a rub to me.”

 

“I changed my mind.” Kim Minseok spoke in this casual, lilting tone, as if he was just being tossed about by the wind; a milquetoast without a care in the world.

 

“What was it you called us? A day latrine?”

 

“A dia lavitra. It means ‘traveller’ in Malagasy.”

 

“In what?”

 

“Malagasy. It’s a language. In Madagascar.”

 

“Like the movie.”

 

“Technically.”

 

“Why Malagasy?”

 

“Because that’s where Miora Andriamihaja is from.”

 

“Who?”

 

“She’s our founder. She started this all.” he said as he led me off the elevator and through the hotel lobby.

 

“Why?”

 

“That, my dear pengy, is something she’ll have to explain to you.” 

 

We wandered out onto the streets of Paris, which, for the time of day it already was, wasn’t as busy as I expected. Minseok and I could walk down the street side-by-side comfortably, and with enough space. We weren’t shoulder to shoulder with people, as there wasn’t many to begin with. However, the streets were lined bumper-to-bumper with cars, and many shops occupied the buildings. The majority were clothing shops and shops that sold art, but there were a few shops in which I couldn’t understand the name of what it was trying to sell.

 

“What do you mean when you say I’m one of the first and hard to get ahold of?” 

 

“Miora founded her establishment, Ho Avy, in the 1930s, but it never took off until 2578. It’s a bit guai, you see. Like us, she’s got her own timeline. She came up with it in the 2560s, worked the daki-daki, and went back to the 1930s to get it really started up. She thought it’d work better there, and saw it as a halfway point of sorts. Rumour has it her notebook goes all the way up to 3840.”

 

“Baloney.” I muttered, and again, Minseok gave me a quizzical look, but continued on nonetheless. 

 

“She got people from around that time frame to work for her as the first dia lavitras. Ho Avy wasn’t as developed as it is now, so the timatas - that’s what we call those of you who were some of the first to register - don’t have as much as we do now, including the wayas - the phones. It’s how we all communicate, keep tabs on ourselves, the likes. The wayas don’t interfere with technology from whatever age we be in, whether it be developed or underdeveloped.  But the wayas is also how Miora calls us back for check-ins, and since you timatas don’t have them, you’re hard to find.

 

“That’s where the nahitas come in. The nahitas are like, the police force of Ho Avy, but for like, missing children. The nahitas have more access to Ho Avy technology than we do, and rules are less strict around them. They’re hired to find the timatas and bring them back.”

 

“Are you a nahita then?”

 

Minseok shook his head. “No, that’s why this is so strange. And also why I have to get ahold of Park Chanyeol. He’s the nahita that’s been searching for you for awhile now.”

 

“Are you going to bring me to your time?” I asked, suddenly fearful. This whole corporation was making my head spin. I hadn’t travelled as far as Minseok was talking about,  and it was hard to wrap my head around. I had seen 2437 Tokyo, and even a mere hundred years further was difficult to imagine. I wasn’t sure of what was waiting for me there, or what I was travelling into. 

 

Minseok shrugged, something that he seemed to do with many of my questions pertaining to the here and now. “I’m not sure. I don’t even know how to bring you back.”

 

“I’m guessing you don’t have much time to figure that out.”

 

Again, Minseok shrugged. “Technically, we could have all the time in the world, as long as we don’t fall asleep. So we’ve got about five to eleven days.”

 

“With caffeine?”

 

“Of course.”

 

Still hand-in-hand, we made our way down another street. Cars still lined the sides, the brick of the buildings pale. It was a beautiful, peaceful scenery, gentle and serene. His hand in mine felt so natural, and if it weren’t for the impending uncertainty and fear of what the future (literally, no pun intended) held for me (us?), it would’ve been easier to pretend, and for it to feel like a date, as if this were natural, and I almost didn’t dare speak. 

 

“Where are we going?”

 

“Somewhere with service.”

 

We climbed some stairs that opened into a beautiful square, lined with stores and café’s, sets of tables and chairs outside almost every one. The majority of the canopies were a deep red, offsetting the lush greenery that filled the middle of the square and outside of it. Street vendors and artists surrounded the middle of the square, and Minseok’s grip on my hand tightened as I lagged behind him, weaving in and out of and around the people that crowded the square. It was much busier here than on the back streets we took up to here.

 

He led me across the square to what looked like a blue coloured café, but upon closer inspection it seemed more like a pub to me. We sat on one of the tables and chairs outside, which matched the blue colour scheme which set it apart from the rest of the square.

 

Minseok let go of my hand, setting his bag on the ground near his feet and digging through it before pulling out which looked like a chunky smartphone (modern for the time) with an antenna attached, which he pulled out a little, but not to its extended length.

 

He didn’t say anything, just tapped around on it while I looked around the place.

 

I can’t remember if I had the chance to visit La Place Du Tertre before, but its atmosphere was familiar. It made me want to hold Minseok’s hand again, sidle up closer to him, and stroll around, look at the art gallery near the back of it or share a crêpe from the crêperie near it, down the walk from Au Clairon des Chasseurs of which we sat outside. 

 

“Kim Minseok.” Minseok spoke suddenly, shaking me from my thoughts and I tore my gaze from the streets surrounding us and fixated my attention on him.

 

I had only known Kim Minseok for merely a few hours, but I had already found out how easy it was for him to capture my attention, like light being attracted to the details of a flapper’s dress and her jewellery; the gams of a flap sitting at the train station, unsure if she was waiting for her own train to take her far from here, or the train that her husband was on, returning home from wherever he had whisked off to, leaving her behind.

 

“258079616.” Minseok continued to speak into what must’ve been his waya, which was now pressed up against his ear as he leaned into it, his elbow propped up on the table. “Connection to Park Chanyeol, please.”

 

Again, Minseok had left me in the dark on his thoughts and actions, and again, I was left to wonder what he was up to this time.

 

“Hey.” Minseok’s tone changed, and I assumed he had been connected to whoever this Park Chanyeol was. “It’s Kim Minseok.”

 

“Minseoki!” A deep voice crackled from the other end. “What’s up?” Unlike Minseok, who naturally lilted all of his sentences, Chanyeol spoke straight, which made his tone and context hard to pick up on. I don’t think I’ve ever met this man before, but he already scared me.

 

“You’re the nahita in charge of looking for Kim Jongdae, right?”

 

“Mhm. Why? What’s up?”

 

“I think I kinda sorta accidentally did your job for you.”

 

“What?” I could hear Chanyeol yell through the phone, and a banging of metal being rattled. 

 

“I didn’t mean to!” Minseok was quick to come to his own defense. “It was an accident, I swear.”

 

“How the hell? I don’t… I’m not…” Chanyeol sighed. “Explain this to me.”

 

Minseok reached across the table, tapping my arm, wanting me to place my arm on the table as well, which I did,and again he gripped my hand with his free one. “I can’t really,” he told Chanyeol. “I basically just woke up and he was here. What do I do with him?”

 

Chanyeol sighed again, more frustrated and stressed now than before. “There’s not much you can do. I’ll have to talk to Miora about this, but I should be on my way soon. How the hell you fell into his timeline, I have no clue. I’ll talk to Kyungsoo about it. When are you guys?”

 

It was Minseok’s turn to sigh as he told Chanyeol to ‘cling it’ and held the phone to his shoulder. “Do you know the date?” he asked me.

 

I nodded, turning my arm over so he could see what I had etched there earlier without letting go of his hand. 

 

His gaze flicked up and down, from my arm to my eyes and back. “May 27th, 2019. Paris, France.”

 

“Is there anywhere you guys are staying? Bought anything from?”

 

“We’re staying at Montmartre Résidence.”

 

Chanyeol was quiet, but there was more clanging, as if metal was sliding against something and as if Chanyeol was clambering about. His breaths came heavy.

 

“Found it!” Chanyeol exclaimed. “Kim Jongdae, room 528. Checked in May 26th and is set to check out on the 29th. It’s got his credit card number and an email address, along with a billing address. Says here Ikseon-dong, Hanok Village, and alternatively, Long Island, New York.”

 

“Flott. But that doesn’t help much; those are both two different continents than what we’re on.”

 

“We have like, no background on Jongdae besides the fact that he’s a timata. Kyungsoo and I can use this to dig back further on him.”

 

“That’s flott. He told me he doesn’t remember much of anything; maybe he has a brother.”

 

“Okay. Anything else?”

 

“No, but I’ll send you the first and last pages of his book.”

 

“Okay. I’ll get back to you later. Don’t leave the area, okay? And whatever you do - do not fall asleep. Capire? Drink fifteen litres of coffee. Wear helmets and bubble wrap so you can’t fall and knock yourselves out. Nothing of the kind. Capire?”

 

 “Capire.” Minseok muttered, and then hung up. He set the waya on the table, leaning his face into his hand.

 

“What was that about?” I asked.

 

“I told you before we were looking for you. I’m not supposed to be here. We need to bring you back, but I have no idea how to do that. That’s Chanyeol’s job. He’s supposed to track you and find you and bring you back, but again, as I said before, you’re hard to get ahold of. Find, even; you’ve done a good job of covering up whatever tracks you’ve left. All Chanyeol’s found has been a record log with your name in it from 2013 Colorado. Are you apart of the occult?” He looked at me confusedly and with concern, as if I was a dumkuff. 

 

“Not actively.” I admitted, letting go of his hand and showing him my left palm and the scar that dragged across it, which I learned traced my head line. 

 

Minseok shot me an inquisitive look, prompting me to continue. “This was a while ago. Day 372 I think? I was with some high schooler girls and we did a blood magick ritual.”

 

“What the actual living ?” Minseok demanded, shaking his head as he stood up. He placed his waya in his bag again, and then held out his hand, again signalling for me to take it, which I did. 

 

I let him lead me around, not bothering to ask what we were doing or where we were going. My guess was that he had little to no idea either, and at this point I didn’t care.

 

I didn’t care what we did, I didn’t care where we went, I didn’t care whether Park Chanyeol showed up or not. It was strange, a strange, unfamiliar feeling, something I’m sure I’ve felt before, but I couldn’t remember where or when or how or with who. But this feeling, the feeling as if I had drank a ton of an embalmer's giggle water at a rub, was one I quickly became addicted to, and one I knew I could deepen and worsen the more time I spent with Minseok and the more I did with him, as Minseok was the basic, deep-rooted cause of this. 

 

We walked out of La Place du Tertre, up and around Sacre-Coeur, seeing the sights it had to offer and the surroundings of it, running into small shops and cafés.

 

“Do you know where we are?” I asked eventually/

 

“Sort of.”

 

“Do you know how we’ll get back?”

 

“Taxi?”

 

“Is that a thing here?”

 

Minseok shrugged. “We’ll find out, I guess.”

 

It was later in the evening when we found our way back into my hotel room. We didn’t buy anything, not even food. Not only did neither of us feel hungry, but every other shoppe was a crêperie, and again, neither of us felt in the mood for crêpes, which was strange considering one cannot go a day in Paris without a crêpe. I heard there was a place near the Eiffel Tower that made and sold some of the best crêpes in Paris.

 

“I’m so tired.” I sighed, flopping back onto the bed. My bag lied at the foot of the door, where Minseok stood, slipping his shoes off.

 

“Don’t sleep,” he chided. “I’ll find us some caffeine or alcohol to keep us up.”

 

“Coffee, please,” I whined, turning over onto my stomach. My one arm dangled off the bed. “I’m a sleepy drunk.”

 

This made Minseok laugh. “Really? I would’ve thought you were even louder when drunk.”

 

“Are you calling me loud?” I shot up, calling him out, and this made him laugh more.

 

“Yes. You haven’t been very talkative today, but I have a feeling you can be quite loud.”

 

“Get out of here.” I grumbled, laying down and stuffing my face into a pillow.

 

“Don’t fall asleep!” Minseok called, and I heard the door click shut behind him.

 

I wasn’t sure how long he’d be gone, or even where he was going exactly. The lobby? Down the street? Using the metro to go to another place completely?

 

Perhaps I was just that tired, but it seemed like no longer than a minute or so when there was a banging at the door. At first I thought it was Minseok, but this was aggressive and forceful, as if someone was slamming their entire body weight against it. If it was really Minseok, he would’ve knocked, saying it was him, that he forgot the key.

 

There was a buzz and a whir, as if there was some sort of machinery starting up on the other side of the door. 

 

Not knowing what else to do - what else I could do - I huddled in the corner of the bed, holding the pillow tightly to my chest, as if it would do anything, as if it would protect me from what lied behind that door.

 

The buzzing and whirring stopped, and then without warning, gently, the door swung open, revealing a tall, dark haired man kneeling in the frame with what looked like a small pen in his hands.

 

His eyes darted around the room, and then he stood up, opening the side of his jacket and tucking the pen inside. His jacket was long, and reached what seemed to be his knees. He wore a plain white collared dress shirt under it, and dark, formal slacks with it.

 

“Part of me was starting to believe you died,” the man frowned, coming into the room and starting towards me. “Like that Heo Solji girl.” 

 

Like when I had first met Minseok, I didn’t move, didn’t speak, just regarded the man, internally hoping and praying he wouldn’t kill me. 

 

The man was closer to me now, standing beside the bed, and he reached out, gingerly laying his fingertips on the side of my face. His fingers were warm, and my skin tingled beneath his touch, still lingering after he suddenly moved, gripping my wrist and wrenching it up in front of his face.

 

“Hey!” I cried, mostly out of reflex, and tried to tug my arm back, but his grip was firm and tight.

 

The man reached back into his jacket, pulling out another pen-like device (this was different than the one before, I knew, this one was made of a dark metal, whereas the other was paler). He clicked the top of it, and then stabbed it into my finger.

 

“Hey!” I yelled again, and he released me, and I wrenched my hand back. “What the hell?”

 

He focused on the pen, shaking it. He peered at it, and I realized there was a small screen on the side of the pen that faced him. 

 

I stuck the tip of my finger in between my lips, the small dot of blood that now pooled there.

 

“Just making sure you are who I think you are,” the man said, sticking his pen back into his jacket. “Or else this would be very strange and troublesome. Pleasure to meet you; I’m Park Chanyeol.”

 

He stuck his hand out towards me, and gingerly, I took it, not wanting him to stab me with another of his pen-like devices again.

 

“I’m Kim Jongdae.” I told him stupidly, not knowing what else to say.

 

“I know.” he dropped my hand, sticking both of his into the pockets of his coat. “I’ve only been looking for you for a few years.”

 

“Oh.” I muttered. “I forgot about that.” I also didn’t wholly understand, but this guy would just repeat the same things Minseok had earlier, and again, it would go over my head, and I didn’t feel like wasting our time. 

 

“Do you know where Kim Minseok is?”

 

“Sort of. He went to get coffee. Or beer. Something so we wouldn’t fall asleep.”

 

“Fitting.” Chanyeol walked back across the room, drawing out one of the chairs. He sat with one leg strewn over the other, so casually, as if he hadn’t just broken into my hotel room and as if he hadn’t just fulfilled the sole purpose of his job.

 

We sat in silence for a moment, and I wondered why I feared this man based on his voice alone before. He still intimidated me a little, with how stoic and matter-of-fact he was, but he also seemed as if he wasn’t as much of a threat as he seemed. For someone with a voice like that, he had quite the baby face. 

 

There was another clang at the door, causing me to jump and again, turn my attention back to the door, which fell off its hinges, falling to the floor beside Kim Minseok.

 

Kim Minseok picked himself up off the floor, brushing off his legs. Like Chanyeol, he took a quick look around the room before settling on Chanyeol.

 

“Did you really have to take the hinges off?” he sighed.

 

Chanyeol nodded. “He wasn’t answering when I tried knocking.”

 

“I wonder why.” Minseok rolled his eyes. “You could’ve at least given a heads-up that you were coming. You said you’d call.”

 

“Didn’t feel like it.” Chanyeol shrugged as Minseok crossed the room, handing me a warm paper cup I could already tell was coffee. “I assumed you would’ve known it was me. Who else would want to see you?”

 

Minseok kicked Chanyeol in the shins, shooting him a glare. “ off; I’ll cut off your hands, I swear to God.”

 

Chanyeol just laughed, standing up. “I’d like to see you try. Now, do you both have all of your things? We should get going.”

 

“What about the door?” I asked meekly. Was that a stupid question? Probably.

 

“That’s no problem.” Chanyeol opened the side of his jacket again, taking out another pen-like device and clicking it, aiming it at the door, which picked itself up and attached itself back to its hinges.

 

“What the fu-u-u-ck.” I laughed nervously. It seemed that this man had a whole hand of tricks up his sleeve, and I was scared of what else those pens could do and what they could do to me.

 

“Why do you get all the flott ?” Minseok whined. 

 

“Because I’m better than you,” was Chanyeol’s remark. “Now, hold on. You may feel a little nauseous as you haven’t travelled like this before. If you are going to get sick, do it away from me.”

 

He held out his arm, and Minseok grabbed my hand before clutching onto Chanyeol’s arm. Before I could ask any questions, Chanyeol had another pen in his hand, and a wave of nausea and another wave of force hit me so hard I felt like I was about to black out, but I held on, not wanting to upchuck all over Minseok.

 

I hadn’t realized I had squeezed my eyes shut until I felt something cool and hard hit my back, and when I opened my eyes I realized it was tile floor.

 

Minseok sat near me, his head between his knees. “ that,” he grumbled. “Never again.”

 

Chanyeol, who seemed fine and on his feet, again, laughed at Minseok. “You get used to it. That, and you’re just a big baby.”

 

“If I didn’t feel like ing dying I’d hit you.”

 

Chanyeol didn’t retaliate to that, just stuck his hand out towards me, dangling over my face. “Welcome to 2625, Tanibe. Are you dead?”

 

“No.” I managed to force out, ignoring whatever gibberish Chanyeol had said before. I grabbed Chanyeol’s hand and let him pull me up to my feet. Like Minseok, I felt like I was dying. 

 

“Take this,” Chanyeol grabbed my hand, dropping a small white pill into my hand. “It’ll make you feel better. It dissolves.”

 

I did as I was told as Chanyeol gave Minseok the same pill, and much to my surprise, the pill instantly dissolved, leaving a slight bitter taste in my mouth, but nothing too stagnant.

 

Minseok and I gathered our things and followed Chanyeol out of the room we had dropped into. It was like a large chamber, and the door hissed as Chanyeol opened it and everything. We stepped into a pristine white lab, lined with desks and computers with women in straight pressed white clothes, a few men milling about in dark garb similar to Chanyeol’s. 

 

Undoubtedly, Minseok and I stood out, his bright coloured plaid and ripped jeans and my red tee shirt much more casual than what everyone else was wearing.

 

“Park Chanyeol!” a voice called out, and a dark-haired man, wearing a black turtleneck under a jacket similar to Chanyeol’s, came running up. He was shorter than Chanyeol, but the same height as Minseok and I. “Your report.” the man handed Chanyeol a stack of papers, which he promptly crumpled and tucked into his jacket. “Hey! I worked all day on that.”

 

“And I’ll read it later.” Chanyeol told him.

 

“You didn’t need to crumple it.” 

 

“I can still read it just the same whether it’s crumpled or not. Don’t be so sovi over it.” 

 

The man sighed, obviously already at his wit’s end with Chanyeol. He his heel, facing Minseok and I. “Kim Minseok.” he greeted, sticking out his hand, assumably for a shake, and Minseok pressed his fist up against it. The man was obviously not impressed, shot Minseok a look, and then wrenched his hand back towards himself, shaking him off. He then turned to me, and shot me a look as well. However, he didn’t seem disappointed with me, as he did the other two, but rather in awe, as if he believed he was dreaming. “You’re Kim Jongdae,” he said, and I didn’t know what else to do besides nod my head. Did everyone around here know who I was? “You look different than in the photos.” He reached over, tugging at my cheek, as if checking to see if I was real and how far my cheek could stretch. What was it with these people and my cheeks?

 

“Thanks…?” I said, unsure if that was a compliment or an insult. These people confused me already, and I was barely here twenty minutes.

 

“Your face is longer.” Again, I was unsure if that was a compliment or not, and before I could ask (or thank him again) Chanyeol hit him on the arm. “I’m Do Kyungsoo, by the way. Iwadi.” I nodded, pretending I knew what that meant.

 

“Don’t slander him,” Chanyeol told him. “We gotta get him up to Sehun before I let you do anything with him.”

 

Kyungsoo groaned, and the two men made their way forward, out of the room. Minseok took my hand, dragging me along as we followed them. “I hate Oh Sehun.”

 

“You say that about everyone.”

 

“It’s true.”

 

“No it’s not. You love me.”

 

“I hate you the most.” Kyungsoo looked up, glaring at Chanyeol, who just jabbed Kyungsoo in the ribs.

 

“Where are we going?” Minseok whined, vocalizing my question for me. I had a million things to ask and wanted a kajillion answers, but didn’t have the nerve to ask them. These two men offset me slightly, and I didn’t want them to think I was dumb for asking questions.

 

“Oh Sehun.” was Chanyeol’s answer as he reached into his jacket, pulling out a card. We had approached what was a pair of elevator doors. On our right, a simple, regular elevator, and on the left, the elevator looked normal, but required Chanyeol to swipe his card to use. The doors immediately pinged open, and we crowded on. Chanyeol held his thumb up to a small pad on the inside panel of the elevator, hitting several different buttons. “I’ll show you the rest of the building on our way up.”

 

The elevator jerked upwards, and no one said anything, so silent to the point where I almost dared not breathe as I feared disturbing such silence. The elevator was a good size, but since we tried to shove four, full-grown men onto it, we stood shoulder-to-shoulder, Minseok’s hand still wrapped in mine. 

 

I wasn’t sure why he always held my hand, but I still liked it, it was comforting and semi-familiar, and so I didn’t say anything.

 

The back panel was a mirror, and the other sides were a dark, red wood with gold accents, including the bar that lined the insides. The button panel, along with the doors, were a simple, metallic grey. 

 

The doors slid open again, leading us into a large room, arranged almost like a library, shelves nearly touching the ceiling, lining the entire room. It was dimly lit, barely any lights attached to the ceiling, but smaller lights illuminating the shelves. To me, it seemed like something out of a Jules Verne novel, or Hobbes’ Leviathan, although admittedly, I have never read any of those, so I can’t be exactly sure.

 

“This is the aklatan. Literally, the library. It’s where we store all of our information, on everyone and everything.” Chanyeol said, stretching his arms out as if presenting the place. “Iwadis and nahitas spend a lot of time in here. People like Kyungsoo put the information in, and then people like me come and take that, and actually use it.” 

 

Kyungsoo didn’t argue against Chanyeol’s comment, and Chanyeol guided us over to a large tablet that stood in the front, before the shelves, not too far from us. It looked like one of those interactable touch screen maps you find at malls, and when Chanyeol touched it and it lit up, it displayed a map outline much like the one you would typically see. It outlined the aklatan, the room-long shelves separated into sections, and each section labelled. Chanyeol tapped a small, white magnifying glass symbol in the corner, contrasting the dark blue hues of the rest of the screen. A white keyboard popped up, and he punched in my name, and it faded, the code ‘A04’ popping up.

 

“This is your file,” Chanyeol told me, pointing to the code. “I already know where you are, but I wanted to show you how.”

 

“That’s swell.” I said, sticking out a thumbs up.

 

“If only I had heard you talk eight years ago.” Kyungsoo sighed, moving past us and making his way to the far end of the room. We followed, Minseok’s hand still in mine, and we caught up with Kyungsoo standing on the second rung of a ladder propped up against the shelf, inching down what looked like a shoebox placed into a slot labelled ‘A04’. “This is you.” he said when he had stepped down, opening the lid. “There’s not much in here. You’re a hard man to get a hold of, Kim Jongdae. These here are your consent papers, not that they were much help. A photo and a signature is basically all they are.” He took out a small bundle of papers, stapled together in the corner, as if they were a high school essay for a literature class. 

 

I let go of Minseok’s hand to flip through them, and he peeked over my shoulder as I glanced over a page titled ‘Rules and Guidelines’. Chanyeol and Kyungsoo showed no interest in the packet, as they had undoubtedly seen it before.

 

The second page was ‘Personal Information’. A photo of myself, that looked like it had been used for identification of some sort, was attached to the corner by a paperclip. My name was written in flowery cursive on a line, and my eye and hair colour, height, and weight were filled in, and on the bottom was my signature. There was nothing about my birthdate, age, , address; a date or time signed, even. I continued flipping through, and none of that information was ever mentioned, and no emergency contact or medical history of any sort. 

 

There was another piece of paper attached at the back with a second staple pierced through, and this paper wasn’t as yellow and browned and crinkled as the others. This was crisp and white, small damage done to it, small rips and folds at the corners and edges, undoubtedly from Chanyeol and Kyungsoo constantly flipping through it and being in and out of the box. This paper had a date on it, unlike the others.

 

July 19 2618

Kim Jongdae, fourth member to join and participate in activities run by Ho Avy, has been officially declared to have the status of a timata by the State due to no contact for over one service year; six hundred and eighty three linear years. He has been assigned Park Chanyeol (2022124220) as a nahita, and Zhang Yixing (200862921) as an iwadi. Both will be presented with any information and evidence for Kim’s whereabouts, and will be required to present, track, and record any findings.

 

Another piece of paper was taped to this one, halfway down the page.

 

December 16 2620

The iwadi in charge of Kim Jongdae, Zhang Yixing (200862921), has been replaced with Do Kyungsoo (199381724) due to unfortunate unforeseen circumstances.

Please refer to the Nahita Warrant for 200862921 for more information.

Park Chanyeol (2022124220) will continue to work as the nahita for Kim.

 

I didn’t know what to say or what to do with these papers, and so I messily handed them back to Kyungsoo, who placed them back in the box. “And then there’s just the receipt Chanyeol found yesterday and a journal entry from 1822 and another from 2013, but no one can read it so they’re also not much help, besides the fact that at some point you were in 1822 and 2013.”

 

“Yeah, 1822, it was, uh… in October, I think?” I knelt down, sliding my bag off of my shoulder and opening it, sorting through it before taking out my notebook, and flipping through that until I found the date I was looking for. “November 13th, 1822.” I said, turning the notebook around so Kyungsoo could see it. “Fall of Nafplio.” 

 

“Dewa.” Kyungsoo gaped, hesitantly stretching his hands out for the book. “Can I see this?” I nodded, and he took it, flipping through it. “You actually wrote in this. Most people just find the date and write down the location, which can sometimes be helpful, but not usually.” His head snapped up, his gaze meeting mine. “I love you.”

 

“Thanks?”

 

“That’s gay.” Chanyeol chimed in.

 

“Don’t you have a boyfriend?” Minseok asked him. 

 

Chanyeol nodded. “Yeah, but he’s in like, 2004 or something right now. But that’s not important.” Chanyeol reached over, taking the book from Kyungsoo’s hands, who cried out in protest, but Chanyeol stretched over him, slipping the book back in my bag, which I once again shouldered. I could feel Minseok’s hand run down my arm before finding mine, grasping it again, his chest brushing against my back. “We have to get you two up to Sehun. He’s up on the next floor.”

 

“Sehun is going to lose his when he sees Minseok.” Kyungsoo commented, leading the way out of the aklatan. 

 

Chanyeol laughed. “We’ll have to have Jiwoo on standby for when he has a heart attack.”

 

Again, we huddled onto the elevator after Chanyeol swiped his card, and the next floor looked a lot like the main floor; numerous stations and more equipment than I even knew existed. Everyone on this floor wore long, white lab coats, even the men, who wore dark coloured outfits on the main floor. The floor was set up to look like one large room, although I could see that to my far right, it curved and separated, and this part of the floor was sectioned into what was meant to look like cubicles, except they were larger; almost like offices with no doors, and the walls only partially built. The walls were only about hip-high, like baby gates.

 

Chanyeol led us to the other side of the room, weaving in and out of people and stations and equipment until he stopped at one block, leaning onto the wall of it and reaching over, rapping twice on it. “Knock knock, .” 

 

A man sat in the block, sideways to a desk, the end of a blue pen in his mouth, and thick, square-framed glasses perched atop his head. Like everyone else on this floor, he wore a lab coat which he left open, showing a blue collared shirt underneath and dark pants.

 

He looked up, and upon seeing Chanyeol, grimaced. “What do you want, Park?” he asked, and Chanyeol hit him in the arm.

 

“Shut it,” Chanyeol retaliated. “I’ve got someone you’ll want to see.”

 

The man sighed, standing up but still in the block, the wall serving as the only divider between him and Chanyeol. He was roughly the same height as him. “This better be good, Park.”

 

“I’ve got Kim Minseok.” Chanyeol placed his hands on Minseok’s shoulders and pushed him forward, ripping him away from me.

 

“What about him?” he asked, not seeming very impressed. “I saw him, like, last week.”

 

“Hi.” Minseok muttered, giving a small wave. 

 

Chanyeol released Minseok’s shoulders. “Lee Hyeri told me he dropped off the grid, and then he called me from Paris 2019-”

 

“Since when was Lee Hyeri in charge of Kim Minseok?” The man asked. Sass littered his voice, to the point where it was almost a rude tone, as if he was already annoyed with Chanyeol.

 

The man looked past Chanyeol, his eyes gliding over Kyungsoo and settling on me. I could see the confusion cross his face as he tilted his head and squinted his eyes at me, moving his glasses down in front of his face and then relaxing as the recognition set in. 

 

He hoisted himself up onto the block and swung his legs over, kicking Chanyeol in the side as he did so. He ignored Chanyeol’s yelp of pain and threat, stepping towards me and grabbing my face in both of his hands, squishing my face. “You’re Kim Jongdae,” he said, and I nodded. “You look different in person. Your face is longer.” he released one side of my face, but kept one hand on my one cheek. “I’m Oh Sehun, takuta. It’s been… long enough.” He looked me dead in eyes, as if trying to find something in them.

 

“Thanks?” I said for what felt like the umpteenth time today. Seriously, what was up with everyone and my cheeks and my face size? Did everyone really know me - was I like Harry Potter, and had thousands of dollars somewhere, too? Did I survive some tragic event as a child that everyone but me remembers? “Do I know you?” I found myself asking. The more this man looked me over, the more personal this felt. I’m pretty sure this is something only married couples are supposed to do in private… 

 

“No.” he told me. “But I’ve been following you for a long time, Jongdae. In a completely legal, totally-not-a-stalker sort of way.” he dropped his hand from my cheek. “How the hell did you get here?” he whipped around to face Chanyeol. “And you not tell me?” he spoke gently to me, as if he felt like he needed to care for me and protect me, maybe give me a warm cup of coffee and wrap me up in a blanket. But his demeanour and language changed quickly when facing Chanyeol, and he seemed as if he was about to kill the man.

 

“That’s what I’m doing now!” Chanyeol defended himself. “Technically, Minseok found him.”

 

Sehun relaxed again, looking over to Minseok inquisitively, like a scientist observing his lab rats. “Come, let me read your timeline.” 

 

Minseok walked into the small cubicle while Sehun hoisted himself over again, bending over and opening a drawer, from which he drew a vial and a syringe. He kicked at a chair with his foot, gesturing for Minseok to sit, which he did. Sehun poked the syringe into the vial, drawing it up, and then took Minseok’s arm in his free hand. 

 

As he pushed around, trying to find a vein, I moved forward, wanting to stand beside Minseok, but Kyungsoo held me back.

 

“He’s fine,” Kyungsoo told me, a small smirk playing at his lips, as if he was amused by me. “We’ve all done it before, especially him. That’s what was in the pill Chanyeol gave you earlier.”

 

“But—” I started. Not only was the needle of the syringe the size of my finger, but this whole time Minseok had been by my side, holding my hand, leaning into me, and now was probably the best time to return the favour. I didn’t want him to think ill of me, or that I didn’t like it or him, because I do, and it wouldn’t be good if he thought that way. 

 

But Minseok seemed unfazed by it, bored, even, and he placed his head in his other hand as Sehun pressed down on the syringe, the pale, almost transparent, amber coloured liquid into his veins. He then pressed two circles to either side of his temples, cords running from those to his computer. 

 

Minseok relaxed in the chair, his eyes fluttering open and closed, as if he was unsure of whether to close them or not, and Sehun sunk back into his own chair, clicking around on his computer. 

 

From the angle I was at, I could see what was displayed on Sehun’s computer. It looked like a graphing calculator, different coloured bars stretching horizontally across the screen, each labelled with a different name and at varying lengths, some large, some small. Each had a ‘start point’, marked with a black, thin bar that ran through it. A trail of numbers dotted the bottom of the screen, counting up, and I assumed they were years. If I squinted, I could see a lime coloured one labelled ‘Yoo Jeongyeon’, and started in 1678 and ended in 2006. 

 

A pop-up window appeared in the corner of Sehun’s screen, reading ‘updated timeline! - kim minseok 258079616’. An orange bar stretched across it, and Sehun scrolled through it, comparing it to another orange bar in his main window, labelled with Minseok’s name. Both bars had a start point of 2596, and the first stretched from 1233 to 3624, and the one in the pop up window started at 1233 and had 2596 labelled as a start point, but curved upwards and broke off at 2019, only to be picked up again for a small point in 3068, disappear again, and then again in 2580, continuing to 2625. 

 

Sehun glanced confusedly at his screen, and then stood up, peering over the divider and into the block connected to his. “Hayoung, could you connect?”

 

A girl poked up from the other side. “Why?” she asked. She was a very pretty girl, her brown hair long, cropped near her forearm, her face practically symmetrical. 

 

“I’ll drop it to you.” He ducked back down, clicking around again before standing back up, telling her it was sent.

 

“That’s… guai.” 

 

“I know.”

 

“Does it intersect with another?”

 

“I think so. Kim Jongdae.”

 

The girl shot up, taller than before, and I assumed she was standing on her chair. “The Kim Jongdae?” she laid eyes on me, and she looked shocked and surprised, as if she had just walked into a room and the lights flicked on, everyone present saying it was a surprise party for her. “You’ve been working on his case for… how long now?”

 

“Five years,” Kyungsoo chimed in. “Total.”

 

“I joined a year in.” Sehun added.

 

“Honestly, I thought he was dead.” Hayoung sighed, shaking her head and lowering herself from the chair. “Send him over, I’ll hook him up.”

 

“He hasn’t done it before.” Sehun told her.

 

Chanyeol pushed me over, and I moved into Hayoung’s block through a small part that opened. Her block was identical to Sehun’s, except for some of the decor that littered the walls. Sehun had ribbons from what were assumed were awards, and Hayoung had a few, but not many. She mainly had photos of her and some other people, and little bottles of nail polish and tubes of lipstick were shoved in one corner of her workspace in a small bin. 

 

Hayoung copied Sehun, taking out a syringe and vial and filling it, and she took my arm gently, pushing around for a vein.

 

“You’re not gonna feel any of this,” she reassured me, feeling confident in the vein she had found and swiping at it, gently pressing the needle against my skin, preparing, but not yet piercing my skin. “Don’t you worry. When you wake up, you’ll be fine.”

 

“What?” I forced out, starting to panic. Who was this girl and what was she doing to me? I noticed her vial was a different colour than Sehun’s; this one was a vibrant green. Minseok wasn’t put to sleep when Sehun injected him, the needle was in my arm now, his eyes were open, warmth being pumped into my bloodstream, I could hear his voice distantly, my eyelids grow heavy, what is it exactly that he’s saying? I’m sleepy, where’s Minseok’s hand? 

 

My hand - my entire body - felt heavy, as if someone had thrown a lead blanket over me, and I tried to reach out, fluster around for Minseok’s hand, which had been there all day, or even some other part of him, he was always so close, where was he? 

 

My body failed, my eyelids slowly closing as I fought to keep them open, trying to see Minseok, but only Hayoung hovering in front of me. I tried to call out for him, have him reassure me or get me out of here, whatever one he wanted, and I barely felt Hayoung stick circles with cords that connected to her computer to not only my head, but my arms, my chest; where did my shirt go? Where did Minseok go? 

 

Minseok? 

 

—• • •—

 

I wake up in a hospital bed. 

 

Plain and simple, a thin, scratchy sheet stretched over me, reaching my stomach. 

 

My shirt is still gone, and there’s red marks where Hayoung stuck her circles onto me. There’s a blue Band-Aid where she injected me, and it has red hearts printed on it. There’s other red circles there, as if she had suction-cupped me, or ripped the Band-Aid off. I could only assume there were ones on my head, too.

 

The feeling in my body slowly returned, and I began to feel lighter and lighter, as if all the blood in my body was being drained and replaced with helium.

 

A door slammed open abruptly, causing me to jump, but I quickly relaxed when I realized it was just Minseok.

 

Minseok.

 

“Dewa.” he breathed, quickening his pace as he came towards me, collapsing onto the bed, pressing up against me. “I’m so sorry, Jongdae.”

 

I tried to push myself up a little, but found myself feeble and weaker than I thought, and I fumbled a moment, but still managed to move up a little. It seemed like Minseok didn’t notice, and if he did, he acted like he didn’t, which made me feel better about it.

 

I found myself strong enough to talk, however, saying, “You have nothing to be sorry about.”

 

“I do.” Minseok replied, holding himself up by his forearms. He hovered above me, as if in a plank position. “I shouldn't have let them do that to you.”

 

“I don’t even know what they did.” I mumbled. It was all a little fuzzy, but I remember Hyejeong, was it? No, Hayoung… Hayoung injecting me with something, and then all I could think about was Minseok, and I fell asleep, and now I’m here, in a thin, uncomfortable hospital bed with springs jabbing into my back and the blanket scratching at my skin with Minseok cuddled up to me, and I could feel how warm he was against my skin, and I realized that not only was Minseok seeing my bare chest for the first time, but he was laying on it, too. I tried not to grow flustered, but I could feel my cheeks heat up nonetheless, and I just hoped he didn’t notice that, either.

 

“There’s so much to explain to you, so much for you to know, so much for me to figure out still… but so little time. No time, no time, no time at all, no, no… we have to make sure they can’t hear us, they can’t know I know, and they can’t know that I know so I’m letting you know…”

 

“You’re acting hinky, Minseok.”

 

“I don’t know what you’re trying to say.”

 

“You seem like you’re zozzled. Ossified.”

 

“Oh. Like I’m polovina tam.” 

 

“I don’t get what you guys are saying half the time.”

 

“Like I’ve drunk too much alcohol.”

 

“Giggle water.”

 

Minseok propped himself up again, looking me square in the eye. “Kyungsoo was right about you, wasn’t he?”

 

“I don’t know what he said.”

 

Minseok leaned back down, placing his head on my chest again. “We have barely any information on you, as you know. Finding a birth certificate, or even just time and place of birth, would’ve been really handy in finding you. That’s what Yixing was trying to do before he… that’s for later. Let’s not get tracted. But judging by the way you’ve talked this whole time, Kyungsoo thinks you were born sometime in the 1920s. You say things like ‘swell’ and ‘giggle water’ and whatever you said just now.”

 

I laughed. “You guys have some weird words, though, too. ‘Sovi’? ‘Dewa’?”

 

“Don’t be so sovi.” Minseok said. “Like, don’t make a big deal out of it. Calm your . And ‘dewa’ is like-” he paused, gasping. “Oh my gosh!” I laughed at that, and Minseok grew sober again. “But that’s not what’s important. That’s not why I’m here. I have some very important things to tell you, but I don’t have a lot of time to tell you it. I’ve already wasted so much… please try and keep all limbs inside the ride at all times, secure any loose jewelry, and leave all questions for the end.”

 

He was a flip-floppy, serious one moment, silly the next, and talking nonsense again, as if he was scared of something or someone, and I just laid there as he moved around, laying on me and beside me and hovering over me, although we maintained eye contact for the most part, gazes almost never wavering, but of course Minseok would break it when he moved around, only to pick it up again, and I would avert my own gaze when I felt I had stared for too long. 

 

“Linear years and service years are different.” Minseok started. “Linear years are standard - 1916, 1917, 1918, so on and so forth. Service years jump around - 1918, 2023, 1687. Service years is rather measured by amount of days than actual years. It’s how long you’ve been with the company. Service years can be a little confusing, because people start and end at different times. Like, Sehun was born in 2517, and joined in 2520, making him 23. Kyungsoo was born in 1993, joined in 2017, and he’s 32. Like, it kind of makes sense, but it’s also guai. 

 

“You started here about five service years ago, but by the way the timeline works, you were one of the first to join. Obviously. But Kyungsoo, for example, has been here for eight service years, but joined after you. 

 

“Everyone has a different timeline, that belongs solely to them, but we have what’s called the main timeline - Tanibe - and that’s where we are now. There’s a lot of stress and danger with controlling the main timeline. These other timelines, they don’t essentially matter. They’re all trial runs for this one. Takuta, people like Sehun and Hayoung, go through and analyze all the different timelines, and find what has the best outcome from every single event, and then iwadi, people like Kyungsoo, go through and implement it. Dia lavitras, like you and me, are just test dummies. But all timelines work the same - or, they’re supposed to - when it ends, it ends, and the dia lavitra of the timeline can’t get hurt unless it’s themselves doing so.

 

“Remember the other day, back in Paris? We were in your timeline then. So, if someone came and shot at us, you’d live, but I would die. But if you shot yourself, and you died, that’s it. That’s the end of the timeline, the end of the world on that timeline. That’s why control over the main timeline is constantly being shifted and so stressful and dangerous. Having utmost control of the single most important thing in this reality drives you literally crazy. There’s rumours that you can hear the first guy that went legit insane, Jang Dongwoo, still screaming.

 

“Chanyeol’s been working on your case since the beginning. Remember those consent forms from earlier? Originally, Zhang Yixing was working on your case with Chanyeol. He did so for about two years. He did good, he found those logs with your name mentioned. What he was really trying to find was your birth certificate. With that, everything would be so much easier. We would have been able to find you so much quicker, or at least be led to people who would have more of an idea about you.

 

“Take Kim Namjoon, for example. His team found his birth certificate, and they came into contact with his family and found him from there. But it’s not always as simple as that. You, Namjoon, and all other dia lavitras and timatas all run on our own timelines. So, nahitas and iwadis have the power to and jobs of intersecting timelines. Theirs are more dangerous, because its not their timeline. Think of it like sports; teams do better on their home turf rather than at away games. 

 

“When someone, whether it be a nahita or iwadi or whatever, although most often a nahita, does something great, they get the chance to take over Tanibe. It’s a huge thing that a lot of people strive towards. It’s one of the biggest offers out there; it’s like winning a Nobel prize. You undoubtedly know by now that your case was one of the hardest. Out of the original six of you to join, we’ve only found five of you now, including you, two who are dead. Kim Yookwon and Kim Ahyoung. We found you, Kim Namjoon, and Kim Minji. We still need to find Kim Hyunjung, but they’re trialling her case, so we don’t know if we’re ever going to even get the chance to find her. 

 

“But that’s not the point. Exactly. Kind of is. But not really. What I’m going to say now is really, really important, Jongdae. I can only say this once, and you can’t repeat it to anyone, even if your life - other people’s lives - depend on it. If anyone brings it up, you gotta act like you have no clue what I’m talking about, okay?”

 

I nodded, a little frightened of Minseok’s seriousness, especially when he started that ‘even if your life depends on it’ spiel. It seemed our situation was much bigger, more dangerous, than I thought it was. It wasn’t just about finding me, it wasn’t about keeping the state of the world(s) in check. It was something much more, something bigger and more terrifying and threatening than I could comprehend.

 

“Zhang Yixing is dead.” Minseok said, plainly, matter-of-factly. “And so is Heo Solji and Kim Yookwon and Kim Ahyoung and others that I don’t know. I can’t speak on behalf of Solji and Yookwon and Ahyoung, barely Yixing, but at least I knew him. Park Chanyeol killed Yixing. He never said it right out, or made it evident, obviously, but I know he did it. Yixing was the best of the best. Despite being so young, and not here quite as long as Chanyeol, he was great and he did great. We would’ve found you - and others, probably alive - if we had Yixing working with us the entire time. But his timeline closed, and he died. Yixing is dead, and Chanyeol killed him.

 

“Yixing knew what he was doing. Everything was carefully planned out and calculated, nothing ever impromptu or spur-of-the-moment, no matter the odds.” Minseok paused, biting his lip, shaking his head. I could tell how much the death of Zhang Yixing bothered him, how deeply it affected him. 

 

“When they had released that Yixing had died, that’s what they said it was. That he was reckless and didn’t think it out, and that his death was a consequence of his actions, and that he was to be a model to us all of what not to do. But he should be remembered as more - better - than that. They took him, his life, his memory, the little legacy he had, the little of him we had of him, and ruined it, tarnished it.

 

“If Yixing succeeded in finding you - which he would’ve, I’m sure of it - he would’ve been offered to take over Tanibe. But Chanyeol wants that, and that’s why he killed Yixing - with Yixing out of the way, it makes it look like Chanyeol did all the work, especially since Kyungsoo joined a few years later. Why give the prize to the guy that showed up to the party late, who just tacked his name on the end for credit, instead of the leader, the guy who made it all happen? 

 

“Like it mattered, anyways.”’ Minseok spat, laughing slightly, and I was beginning to wonder if it was those in charge of running Tanibe that went crazy, or Minseok himself. “Yixing was going to turn the offer down. He didn’t want it. We all saw what happened to Kim Junmyeon, the floods of security escorts…” he sighed, trailing off. “Yixing didn’t want that to happen to him. He had too much, too many people depending on him to do that to himself. It would’ve gone to Chanyeol by default, but the bastard killed him anyways.

 

“And that’s why he’s coming for me next, Jongdae.” Minseok looked me dead in the eye, and I could see the fear and desperation that laid behind them. “I found you, Jongdae. By accident, yes, but that offer still goes to me. And it won’t go to Chanyeol if I turn it down. They’ll move onto someone else, another case, another time. But if he kills me while he has the chance, it’ll go straight to him.”

 

Minseok relaxed, again, laying beside me. The more he talked, the more he shifted around. Sitting up, sitting back, leaning over, legs over the bed, legs strung over. But he finally kept still, his breathing surprisingly level.

 

“I-” 

 

“Sh.” Minseok shushed me. “You don’t need to say anything.”

 

“I don’t know what I would.” I admitted. Still, I felt I had to say something to fill this void, this silence.

 

Apparently, Minseok did too. He, too, felt that this silent void was too much, too much pressure as the walls pushed in, and so he had to do something.

 

Anything.

 

And so he pushed himself up, hovering over me, lingering for a second. I could see his eyes move ever so slightly as he studied me, the jaw of mine that was squarer than his, my chin that jutted out more than his, my eyes which were rounder than his, which teetered off into perfect little points. 

 

And then he lowered himself back down again, gently pressing his lips against mine.

 

And we were kissing, and I didn’t think about what to do with my hands or what he thought of me or everything I was doing wrong, but rather I thought of just him, and how soft his lips were and how they tasted slightly of cherry and-

 

“When you two are done with whatever little moment you’re having there, I have something important to say.”

 

Minseok flew off of me so fast it was as if someone had ripped him off of me, like he was magnetized.

 

Do Kyungsoo sat in a chair across the room, one leg strewn over the other, like Chanyeol when I first met him. He had a sleeve of crackers in one hand, one cracker with a bite out of it in his other hand, halfway between his mouth and the sleeve.

 

“Sorry, I-” I stammered out, covering my face with my hand so Kyungsoo (or Minseok, really) wouldn’t notice how red I was.

 

“We weren’t-” Minseok tried to defend us, but Kyungsoo just waved us off.

 

“I don’t care, honestly.” Kyungsoo said, putting the rest of the cracker in his mouth. “Just reminds me of how single I am.” 

 

Minseok and I didn’t know what to say to that, just exchanged glances between ourselves, and I felt Minseok’s hand fumble for mine underneath the hospital blanket.

 

“I’m kidding,” Kyungsoo elaborated, giving us a look as if we were the crazy ones. “It’s humour; you other generation don’t get it, apparently.”

 

“I keep forgetting you’re pretty old.” Minseok muttered.

 

“Thirty-two is not old.” Kyungsoo said, standing up and brushing stray crumbs off of himself, leaving the sleeve of crackers on the chair. “And linear-wise, Jongdae’s the one who’s really old.”

 

“I’m like-”

 

“Nineteen. You’ll be twenty in a few months.”

 

“How do you-”

 

“Found your birth certificate.” Kyungsoo said, casually, walking forward to stand at the foot of the bed. “That’s what I came to talk to you about, actually, but then I heard your whole spiel about Yixing. May I add to it?”

 

“You’re going to anyways, even if I say no.” Minseok grumbled.

 

“Valid. You’re right about most of that. All of it, really. Especially the whole ‘Chanyeol killed Yixing’ part. Quite moving, I almost shed a tear. Almost. No one sees Do Kyungsoo cry. But you’re wrong about Yixing. He didn’t have the potential or the ability to find Jongdae, or others - he did. He did it. Looking through your consent forms reminded me of him, so I decided to root through his things and found a bunch of the company never gave us. Jongdae’s birth certificate; a log he kept. He talked to your family, Jongdae.”

 

“What did it say?” I found myself asking, but I barely remember who my family was. Was it proper for me to want to know? Was this leaping, jittery feeling normal, or were those just side effects of Minseok’s kiss?

 

“First, tell me what you remember from before.”

 

“Absolutely nothing.” It was true - I didn’t remember anything, no matter how hard I racked my brain.

 

“For the better, perhaps.” Kyungsoo muttered, shifting his weight around. “You don’t even remember why you agreed to take part?” I shook my head. “You had both parents and an older brother. You were born in Ikseon-dong, Hanok Village in 1922, three years after your brother. When you three, your brother six, your family moved to Long Island, New York, in 1925. Your mother was sick, and she had tuberculosis. In 1931, your father died of an overdose, when you were nine, your brother twelve. Your father was a known gambler and alcoholic, and you and your father had your differences. You didn’t feel much remorse for him. Your brother started odd jobs to support yourselves, pay for scarce, barely trusted treatment for your mother. Two years later, your brother began to work at a factory. You were eleven. In 1936, you joined the company to earn some money for your family yourself, and you had agreed that all the money would be sent to your brother, who was sixteen at the time. Your mother died in 1937, and your brother joined the war not too long after. First, he considered going back to Asia to fight after the Japanese invaded China, but was too paranoid about you and never left Long Island, unsure if you would come back or not. Despite that, your brother left and joined the war in 1939 on behalf of Canada, when he was nineteen, after lying about his citizenship and status. He barely escaped the Dieppe raid in 1942, and died in 1944 on Juno Beach.

 

“Because he lied about his citizenship and status, all the money you earned was still being sent to a dead man, and you were also registered in both Korea and the States as dead, and your money was transferred to a woman named Yoon Bomi, as you have marital status by the state of New York, but I haven’t been able to find anything else on her, let alone the two of you together.”

 

I didn’t know what to say to that, how to feel about that or how to react to it. It was nice to have some closure on my past, and I knew that eight centuries later, my family was dead, but it was still strange knowing that and how and why. Was it normal to want to mourn people I couldn’t remember, want to grieve over names I couldn’t match faces to, feel guilty for things I wasn’t able to go back and change now? 

 

“Jongdae?” Minseok asked, waving a hand in front of my face. “Are you okay?”

 

“I’m…”

 

“It’s a lot to process, I know.” Kyungsoo broke in. “If it’s any sort of closure, Yoon Bomi could be married to your brother. It’s hard to tell. But that’s for later. The current situation is Park Chanyeol, who can and will make it look like an accident. Chanyeol’s powerful - blame Byun Baekhyun - so letting you guys out the backdoor and telling you guys to make a break for it isn’t gonna cut it. Have you seen the movie Inception?”

 

Minseok and I nodded. “Who’s Byun Baekhyun?” I asked.

 

“Chanyeol’s boyfriend.” Minseok said.

 

“A brain washed brat,” Kyungsoo corrected. “He’s smart, smarter than he lets on. He and Sehun have designed a lot of the technology in this place, and Baekhyun likes to give him lots of little gadgets as presents.And because Chanyeol asks for him to. He’s got this sort of… power and influence over him, it’s insane. You know those small pen things Chanyeol’s got? Baekhyun made them for him.”

 

“What does Inception have to do with this?” I asked, confused. Kyungsoo just talked me in circles; the more I asked and the more he explained, the more I needed answers to and the more arose.

 

“Ah, yes. Back on track. As I was saying, it’s too risky to let you guys just run wild. It’s not going to do anything except prolong Chanyeol. So Sehun’s basically gonna Inception you guys. He’s gonna place you inside a mental timeline. Your bodies will stay here, monitored, but your consciousness - if you believe in such a thing - will be in alternate timeline. Chanyeol will have to kill your consciousnesses to actually kill you, which he can’t unless Sehun puts him in, which he won’t.”

 

“How do you know he won’t?” Minseok asked.

 

“Because I said so.” Kyungsoo cocked his head slightly to the side, as if taunting Minseok to challenge him again. “Do you want to live or not?”

 

“Not real-”

 

“Yes, we do.” I filled in sternly, shooting Minseok a glare. 

 

“I thought so.” Kyungsoo said. “Sehun will be in in a few moments to put you guys in. If anyone else happens to come in, act like you don’t know anything.”

 

We didn’t have the chance to ask other questions, ask for clarification, or even say we understood, as Kyungsoo turned sharply on his heel and turned, leaving the room the way he came, leaving the sleeve of crackers there, abandoned on the chair.

 

Minseok sighed, leaning back. “This is giving me a headache.”

 

I laughed, lowering myself to lay near him, next to him. I could feel him up against me again, he was so close, and I wanted to lean over and kiss him again, feel his lips and his touch again. “I don’t understand, either.”

 

“This is more of a headache for you. I guess you could say you’re off the trolley.”

 

I laughed again, at the stupidity of the joke, but mainly at Minseok’s proud grin, and his own little giggles, at the way he tucked his head into my chest so I couldn’t see his face.

 

Sehun was in the room quicker than we anticipated, and he brought with him a laptop tucked under his arm and a wad of cords balled in his fist.

 

He didn’t say anything as he set up, connecting one end of the cords into an adapter that plugged into his laptop, sticking circles onto the other end of some of the cords, inserting vials into others. He laid them all out neatly on the edge of the bed near me, and I was careful to not upset them.

 

He finally spoke when he seemed satisfied with what was on his screen, and he picked up some of the cords with circles attached to them, advancing onto me. “Kyungsoo told you what I’m about to do, yes?” Minseok and I nodded. “Good. You won’t be able to pull yourselves out of this timeline, you’ll need someone - me - on the other side to do that for you. There’s no communication between our two sides; your mental one and our physical one. I’m not a hundred percent sure how your timeline will work, but I know it’s new and untouched. Either you’ll be starting from the Big Bang or from now or all over the place. You’ll find out when you get there. You need to be more careful there than you are here. It works on a level like it does here - if you kill or hurt yourself, it stays, and if someone else kills or hurts you, it also stays. Not like your other timelines, where only if you kill or hurt yourself does it stay. Capire?”

 

As he spoke, Sehun stuck circles to my forehead, forearms, wrists, ankles, the small of my back and the back of my neck, and did the same to Minseok. He noe held one of the last two cords in his hand, the ones that had piercing pins on the ends of them. I realized they weren’t exactly cords, per se, but rather IV drips of sorts. 

 

“Capire.” Minseok acknowledged, nudging me to do the same.

 

“Capire.” I agreed.

 

Sehun gripped my arm, hitting the spot near my elbow a few times with two of his fingers until he found a clear enough vein, and then stabbed the piercing pin into my skin.

 

He held the drip up, up over his head, a thick, yellow substance dripping down in small amounts. It felt heavy, thicker than the piercing pin was when it entered my veins, and it felt weird, gross almost, and I wanted nothing more but to rip ot out of me.

 

“Five, four…” Sehun counted down, turning to his laptop. “Three, two…” he clicked around a few times, and then positioned one finger over a key. “One.” 

 

He hit the key and I blinked. 

 

I wasn’t in the hospital bed with the thin, itchy sheet anymore.

 

I sat on a wooden porch, overlooking the beach.

 

It was a cloudy day, a nice breeze that swept my hair out of my face.

 

A thin, grey, knitted blanket was thrown over my shoulders and wrapped around me, and a warm, white coffee mug was in my hands. I could smell it, warm and strong and comforting.

 

I blinked again, and Minseok was beside me.

 

His hair was darker, his shirt a pale pink. I could see the shadows under his eyes and the definition of his muscle through the fabric of his pants. 

 

His hands were warm, just like my coffee.

 

And we were kissing again, with no one to disturb us in this world which was purely our own, purely just for us, purely made for us. His lips were still just as soft, the cherry taste just as faint, and the smell of his cologne and whatever laundry detergent he used stronger, and I decided then and there that that was my favourite scent. 

 

I knew what to do with my hands this time, and I laid one on his cheek, gently, so he could pull away when he was ready, but so he could still lean into me. I placed the other on the small of his back, dangerously low, to where one little movement down and it would be on his . 

 

He placed one arm around my neck and shoulders, pulling me down and closer to him, the other hooked under my arm so his hand rested on my shoulder blade. I could feel his legs against mine, nestled neatly into one another as I hovered above him, nearly sitting in his lap. I wanted to, but I didn’t want to scare him off, take things too far too quick. 

 

I didn’t know where Minseok and I were now, where we would be when we woke up, if Chanyeol would come to kill us, if we really were still alive or if this was The Afterlife, what it was like to control Tanibe or to have a family or understand all that Yixing sacrificed for me, or even the little things, like what it was like to travel knowing that that is what I was meant to do and how I’m doing, or even knowing where I would be the next day.

 

I saw everything in fragments. Fragments of history and the future, fragments of large events in peoples’ lives and fragments of peoples’ deaths and fragments of small events in people’s lives. I saw fragments of relationships and development and security and knowing, things everyone else got to see and know and feel in full.

 

I just hoped that what I had with Minseok just wasn’t another fragment, another piece to be messily laid into my mess of a reality.

 

I knew I wanted to see and know and feel what was Minseok and I in full, and I know that I didn’t care about who was around us or where we were or what we were, as long as I got to kiss him. 

 

FIN