Title: Red October
Status: One Shot
Fandom: Bigbang
Pairing: Tempo x Jiyong
Author: kiba kai
Rating: …
Genre: AU, POV
Warning: [BOY x BOY]
Disclaimer: don’t own the boys, no money made
Author’s Note: ‘Into the Fire’ movie timeline / thanks a LOTSSS to @cobaltblue_nut for beta-read *hugs & bow*
Image Song: Big Mama – Crying Out for Love | Song: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=itNkIpWbijc | Lyrics & Translation: http://bigmamakr.wordpress.com/2009/05/23/...g-out-for-love/





Red October
By kiba kai


.
…
Does anyone know how to stop the cycle of a day?

Can we forbid the sun from rising somehow? ...because I grow tired of it.

The rustlings of coarse sheet against skin pull me back to reality; a quiet room with single window accompany by a dead fan hung low from wooden ceiling. My eyes travel to a small cabinet beside a sickbed where I am laid upon, on top of it sit a pile of pills instead of cookie jar but just as colorful.

There is no bird chirping merrily as the morning dew drops from pine leaf.

Solidarity as a barless cage I do not know how to escape.

Both arms assist me in a small task of lifting myself up. Barefoot on the cold floorboard is like treading on thin ice… as each step I take feel like forever on this pair of bedridden legs.

One, two, three more steps, mindlessly count until my hand reaches for a wooden frame of window. Its glass dirtied by wind and blurred by dust, yet still it reflects a pale image of young man.

…

The sun is rising.

…

Beyond faraway hilltop, the first ray of light performs its never-ending duty. Slowly, I push open the cold glass and rewarded by the gentle wind that caress my cheek.

My eyes wander… over the field of grass and wild flowers, over the silver flow that runs like a vein for this small village.

…



Dirt road is vacant.

It usually does.



…

Heavy sighing becomes my habit along with biting nail.

.

Sometimes I wonder how big the world is. Does the horizon extend further than the eye can see? Or does the sky higher than the bird can fly? ...because the world I once know is long melted and now slipping away between my fingers.

Here on the second floor of infirmary, my purpose of life is simply difficult;


Survive.


.



Silence is too loud and loneliness is my only friend.

Sit down by the window, a warned-out chair makes small noise of protest even with my weight, which is gradually decrease every now and then.

A fair view of small village through my windowpane changes its color by cycle of season; white for winter, grey for rainy, green for blooming and red for the withered. Full four cycles I have witnessed. Even though this last three was close to unbearable but memories and promises from the first one still be able to fuel this fading flame.

.

My hand reaches for upper cabinet where 2 most important things in the world were kept; an aged letter and a dried grass ring. For uncountable times I gently touch that handmade ring which I dare not put on, afraid that its fragile nature will tear it apart too soon.

…And for uncountable times I read same words from that scrap of paper, hoping against hope that it might come true one day.

.

‘I’ll be back soon’, it read.

.
Deep voice resounds in my head as though whispered right in my ear, same words he spoke to me just before that rusty train departed. Almond-shape brown eyes with the shade of sorrow stared back at me.

‘I’ll be waiting’, was my answer.

.

But how soon does it mean? Maybe tomorrow… or sooner, today perhaps?

.



Dirt road is vacant.

It always does.


.


…

Everything used to be so clear like a summer sky; so bright ... but too blue. 

Two orphans chased each other across a golden field, our minds filled only with weight of laughter. Under an old cedar we laid, draping ourselves with fresh grass and lazy afternoon stories.

Our hands reached for the sky. There were so much left to see and we could not help but curious about our futures.

‘What is your dream?’ deep brown eyes of the other boy looked up from my lap.

His big head was heavy ….but not that I mind lending my legs as a pillow. My fingers curled at his jet black hair, pondering for an answer.

‘What about yours?’



It turned out that our dreams were simple; his was to become a good farmer and settle down on his own piece of land, mine was to become a teacher of the orphan house we currently lived in.

With coy smile, he wore me a ring made of simple grass twisted together.

At that time we were fifteen, an age of innocence. But our beliefs and expectations were also clouded by naivety … to think that dreams were just around the corner…

…

We made the wrong turn, then.




Dirt road is vacant.

It still does.



.


My eyes blink once… twice …as noise of crying girls fills my ears. Mother of three children push an empty cart to an equally empty field, for no one could ever tend it well like her husband does. Unfortunately, their head of the house is absent for quite sometime.

Pictures of overworked women trying to console their wailing children are easily seen, not only that, old folks threading their own clothes and orphans begging for a bowl of rice, too.

…

In this godforsaken village, I am the only remaining young man here.
Where are the rest of them?

‘To protect the honor of our nation’

…That was the only solid reason they were all taken away. Four years ago, band of military came with words of conceit, delusional victory and an order of force recruitment. Who were they trying to conquer with an army assembled from rotted farmers and unripe teens?

.

3rd Orphan House:

Choi Seung Hyun

Kwon Ji Yong

Report to the officer within 24 hours.

.

Those were all that written on a paper adorned with government seal. Inevitably, our names were enlisted. I still remember the look on his face; horror. Seeing our name there was like an awakening, from this shell of serenity to harsh reality.

…That following night was the first time we spent on the same bed. It was the first time we realized how fragile ‘peace’ was. With shoulder next to each other, we kept reminding ourselves how life used to be. As if we were giving promises, our clasped hands were a symbol of friendship that will never be parted.

His shoulder was soaked.

And so did mine.

…It was the break of dawn when my whisper became wailing for our fate.

‘I’ll take care of you’

He meant for the battlefield.

We would stay close.

Together, we would never suffer this alone.

…

…But then my name was crossed out because my arms were too weak to hold a gun.

Not only that, the doctor at recruitment office diagnosed that I was sick.

…too sick to be a soldier.

…

And soon would be too sick to be alive.

…

I had been weak since I was born but I never thought that…

… that I… was going to die.

…

.

He broke free from training camp that night.

.



On the dirt road

He ran toward my windows.


.


The second floor of infirmary, this very same window, he climbed up to me.

…

His breathe ragged in the midnight wind. Few cuts and dirt on his clothes let me know that he was not allowed to be here.

But he was here anyway…

…and I was grateful.

.

…so grateful I could not say anything … or maybe there was nothing left to be said.
His sudden embrace was like an iron grip on my body…

His scent…

His warm skin…

With small rocking movement and soft touch all over like he was consoling a frightening child.

…

…at that moment I felt like I was home.

…

I had never been touched like this, but I could not say that I was not waiting for one… from him.

I wished I could see my pathetic self.

Maybe he did… because he was humming a sweet tone for both of us… surround us with this air of protection.

The doctor said I was sick… does the tears that could not stop flowing was a part of sickness, too?

My heart was also aching… it was a pure torture.

And then there were high pitch of whistle and several flashlights outside, those commotions were coming closer but he did not let go.

My hands clutched tight to his ragged shirt.

Every inhalation was sorrow …and all the exhalation was pain.

…Before he was dragged away, that small touch of his lips against my eyelid would forever burn in my memory.



…




It was a hollow morning.

Lots of fathers and young fellows of the village were leaving on a military train.
Sunrise dulled in color.

No bird chirping happily.

I ran from the hospital as soon as I had a chance. The lines of mournful families filled this small station. I tried to look at every faces on the packed train.

Chest was beating like a drum when my hoarse voice shouting his name… only to have rusty train screaming over.

People were pushing to had last chance with their love ones…

…but mine was lost.

Until my own name was called in the distant… he was so far … far away.

‘You should not run…’ the nurse told me, ‘…It would kill you’ …but right then, staying still would kill me faster.

So I ran.

Like my whole life depend on it, which it actually did.

But I hate myself for being this weak; the best I could get was only a brief touch of our fingertips and his words resonating in my ears ‘I’ll be back soon!’

‘I’ll be waiting!’

…

And then, only dust in the wind was left.

.

I screamed his name and collapsed on the ground.

…Why would they want to take this away?

.

It was hurt. Too hurt.

I cried so hard... because this world was crumbling down.

There was nothing brighter than his eyes and none was softer than his lullaby. I was left alone in this cold and crude surrounding.

…But why can’t anyone feel it? …the ground turned upside down as a horrible earthquake consumed every living thing.

Was I the only one seeing this blue sky shattered?

…

Sickness or not, I felt like dying right there.


.


.



.

…

But then it pasted. I do not know how… but it pasted.

…Or maybe his words kept me surviving… he’ll be back soon… he told me so.

Then I will wait, too.

…

It was not hard, right?


…



Four years had past since that day

Three years and eleven months had past since I got his first and last letter.


I watch as my thin fingers trace along an old ink…

…and everyday my heart is breaking.



I cough blood.

… But dirt road is still vacant.




My knees touch the floor as I tumble down.

Chest heaving like I am pushed underwater… I cannot breathe.

I see red.

.

Hurt.

Pain.

My own breath burns.

.

But this, too, will past because I already bare the unbearable… right?

…

My eyes are close as the door is softly knocked.

I am oblivious to every feeling until a pair of gentle hand begins to caress my hair… If this is the nurse, why is she not yelling for the blood staining already?

Forcing my eyes open has never been this hard…

…but then

…

Why?

…

Maybe…

… just maybe finally someone must have heard my prayer.

.



Because I see him here,


I see him now,


With that same smile so warm like a setting sun… he speaks two words that I desperately want to hear most;



…I’m back…




… My heart must be pounds in different beat; for I have never felt this ease…

Breathing has never felt so divine…




The day is leaving.

The night is coming.

But I do not mind anymore because here in his warm embrace…


…my waiting finally ends.



.








Fin.