tao knows he's off to some time again. the familar tug on his insides resurface, and he feels like the air has been knocked off his lungs. Zitao is in the void between time and space. And then, just as easily as it started, the jerking motion stops, and his feet finds comfort in being rooted to the solid ground.

Coupled with disappointment over his failed suicide, tao's sudden teleportation caused a ringing, annoying feeling in the pockets of his mind. if he thought that being able to control time was a curse, his current situation now might have been the death of him.

his eyes automatically peers down, hands following the routine it's been used to doing. his palm produces a rustic, antique hand clock and the numbers tell him it's 9:40 p.m. a sigh escapes the confines of his lips. another time travel.

the thing about his ability is that it's either one of these two things: he plays the role of a phantom, or he's an actual being in an actual time that he's not actually from. he looks around to check.

from the looks of it, he's still in the same year, in the same view of the Han Bridge, in the same road he's been driving by for all of his life (well, the uninterrupted moments of his life anyway).

cars keep on running past one another, their headlights looking like fairy dust in the black water's reflection. nothing seems out of the ordinary now, but then again, everything always looks fine in the beginning before decides to go down.

something big is going to happen. something big is going to happen. he can feel it, the same way an absent minded person can realize that he's holding something warm: always starting at the flesh and ends up being a bundle of information pulsing in his nerves. reluctantly, he walks forward the center of the bridge (he doesn't know, but there's that ghost on his mind that keeps on guiding him here, telling him that this is the way to go).

Beside him were an array of lights, behind him were incoming cars, and before him was a man who looked like he was in his early twenties. this stranger is dressed rather oddly; in black skinny jeans, gray sweater, and a thick knitted, scarf bunched around his neck. take note that the temperature is around thirty degrees.

he's staring at the gleaming ripples of the water below them and his hands are curled around the metal railing. it occurs to tao that this stranger could easily jump over it and into the cold, unmerciful water.

tao rolls his eyes, clears his throat, and yells a Hi! experimentally. he gets his answer when the stranger doesn't turn to his direction. oh well, a phantom it is now, then.

he keeps quiet and observes the stranger. He’s got hair as dark as the skies above them, and eyes as wide as the sparkling lights. but before he could go on with his observation, the stranger's hold tightens and he nods his head like he's finally reached a decision after pondering about it for a while. He hoists himself up using his arms and once it's high enough for his feet to step on the barrier, he lets it and immediately grabs a thin beam for support.

When the stranger lets go and jumps with arms wide open, as if ready to embrace and accept the belly of the water below, tao suffers from a pang of jealousy and uncertainty. jealous because why couldn't it have been him? Why couldn't he just jump like that without going back in time? As if taunting his already bruised spirit, a loud, splash emanated below.

and time, as always, decided to be cruel.

just then, two figures staggered in tao's direction one of them was definitely old and ugly. the other was young, had striking features, and looked so scared and shaken up.

"no, no, you should definitely come here. come with me." The older's voice is slurred, the effect of having too much alcohol. he harshly grabs the pretty guy by his collar and pulls him closer. "You are going with me! I paid for you, ."

"you old fart," the guy who'd been called  yells back, and he opens his mouth widely to bite the arm in front of him. groaning in pain, the old man loosens his hold and the other takes it as his chance to escape; he turns to the right--in the middle of the road-- and starts sprinting away.

in the sidelines, tao stays still. the running dude halts the moment an incoming car's headlights illuminate his figure, and unfortunately, it did more than just illuminate. the guy's body flew back a few inches when the bumper hit his knees up to his waist. Cars don't stop when they're supposed to stop.

Don't bother, he's dead. Tao wanted to shout at the strangers who somehow started to swarm around the lying figure of the man. a fence made out of curious eyes and trembling lips surrounds the man, preventing tao from looking at him any further.

not that he wanted to, anyway.

there was nothing exciting or intriguing about a person dying. he shakes his head and doesn't move an inch; he can feel it again. that eerie and definite tingle underneath his flesh that always signals him whenever time would take him. so, i guess it wasn't supposed to happen this way.

He starts thinking about it. two men died. who was supposed to live? what had been the original plan? what should he alter? What can he alter?

in that moment of contemplation, his peripheral vision catches something familiar. something immensely important he immediately snaps his head and walks forward.

it's him.

the questions zipped quiet for a moment, as if his mind and body knew who this person was. tao knows him and doesn't know him. this person with hair like sunlight is involved in the mumbling crowd. but then he turns and looks at tao straight in the eye. this person has the same effect on tao wherever or whenever they are. tao's eyes dilates, his pulse rate quickens, his cheeks turns red, and his fingers are starting to itch with the need to trace the line of this guy's jaw.

tao knows who he is.

he's there every time that Tao time travels. This guy is always on the sideline, an entity that blends in regardless of time. this known and unknown person makes everything fade in the background. When Tao sees him; it's just the both of them. No hurried minutes. No impatient people. No grumbling noises. just them.

Tao doesn't know who he is.

His name changes every time. He was Wu Fan when they’d been fighting in the Joseon era. He’d been Kevin on the year 2432. He might have been under a different guise this time around, but Tao had never stayed long enough to find out which one’s the real deal.

The man under a hundred names and a billion more secrets smiles at Tao. Tao grins back despite the heavy weight laid on his shoulders to carry. Just a slight tug of the edges of this guy’s lips, just a miniature glimpse of pearly teeth behind pink lips is enough for Tao to get through this. The tug calls again and this time, Tao’s anticipating.

—

9:40 P.M. back to the man who would jump off the bridge after a few minutes. Tao’s right where he used to be.

The man grips. Stands. Falls. A splash. Then comes to so-called and the elder man. Fighting. Yelling. Bickering. The younger runs. Gets hit. Falls Down. Tao stares. He closes his eyes. Waits.

And he’s back where he started.

—

the first replay made him aware. the second, indifferent. the third, nostalgic. fourth, dizzy. the fifth, observant. the sixth, skeptical. and by the seventh 9;40 p.m., he's got it all figured out.

—

note;i'm just trolling you. i really don't have any clue. what did i just write. i like it and i don't. comments are appreciated and actually, any form of feedback is welcome~