O' Clock

Tick, tock. Grandfather's clock sleeps, forgotten in a corner of an old thrift shop.

Tick, tock. The rusty pendulum begins to swing . . .

Tick, tock. And Grandfather rewinds his clock, going back in time.

Lu Han was nicknamed the 'Snow Queen;' beautiful to behold, but also very mysterious and detached-- cold even-- and he rarely smiled.

Sehun was nicknamed 'Persephone;' young and beautiful like the flowers in the spring time, but seemingly unwillingly attached to Lu Han. His sunny smiles were plenty when Lu Han wasn't around, but they turned feral or just altogether disappeared whenever Lu Han was by his side.

Yes, the two were mismatched to say the least-- or at least to everyone else they were. But whenever four o' clock rang around, Lu Han would pluck Sehun from his class and the two would vanish to a place only the two of them knew. As reluctant as Sehun seemed, the truth was that he was completely enraptured by the older boy's beauty and deer-like grace. And as sullen as Lu Han seemed, his cold mask always melted into the warmest smiles and laughter as four o' clock rang.

Tick, tock. Sehun's grandfather clock yawns from its corner in the living room.

Tick, tock. The pendulum begins to slow; eventually grinding to a halt.

Ding. Dong. Ding. And four o' clock rings twice. the glass that separated him from the face frozen within the clock, Sehun sleeps as Lu Han's memory wakes.

Pomegranate seeds lay scattered on a bed of wilted rose petals atop a black granite counter. Off to a corner of the island, an old diary was lying open with too many secrets threatening to spill.

Sehun, coming in after a long day of exams, calls out to the older boy, only to hear the sound of rushing water; Lu Han was washing the day's filth from his porcelain skin.

Sehun takes an apple from the fridge, turning to face the island as he took a bite from the apple. Looking at the mess his hyung made, he sets the apple aside, tsking softly. He begins to sweep some of the blood-droplet-red seeds and darkened petals into one large hand, but stops, noticing the diary. Curiously, he stops again at the corner where the open diary lay. His mind could not comprehend the language written in there, but his eyes knew that this was definitely Lu Han's scrawl. His eyes told his mind--his heart-- that this scrawl wasn't Lu Han's usual frivolous thoughts. His heart felt danger; it knew that this diary contained the secret of the six cooler months of this year, and that this secret was the house of Hades. Blotches darker than the seeds of the pomegranate stains the pristine white pages, and before Sehun could take a closer look, he is roughly spun around, staring into the wide, innocent, and bewildered eyes of his beloved deer.

Before the question reaches his lips, Lu Han silences the younger boy, sharing the seed on his tongue with him. The sweet pomegranate seed is swallowed, and soon, the two had eaten six seeds; the forgotten apple had rolled away . . .

Tick, tock. Lu Han closes his eyes, breathing deeply in his slumber.

Tick, tock. Lu Han's chest rises and falls, his breaths gradually becoming shallower and shallower as the machines drone monotonously. Like melting snow drops, the tears begin to stain Sehun's hands.

Ding. Dong. Ding. And four o' clock rings twice; Sehun was dead.

Reality was crueler than any Grimm fairytale. In reality, there was no magic or punishment for this evil. In reality, Snow White wasn't just sleeping in a glass coffin with an apple caught in and waiting for the herse to hit a dink in the road and dislodge it. In this grim fairytale, there wasn't even an evil step mother to blame. There was no Snow White, no Prince.

In this reality, there was only Sehun and someone very dear to him. There was once someone very dear to him, however . . .

Ding. Dong. Ding. Four o' clock rings once.

Tick, tock. And Sehun wakes up, looking around the empty, dark room.

Tick, tock. An unbearable twelve months--a whole year-- has passed without Lu Han. Undoubtedly, many more will pass.

Tick, tock. And the tears collect on Sehun's chin, falling as snow drops upon the old diary in his hands.

The couch creaks as he rises, crossing the room to where the old clock slept. He opens the glass panel, tenderly plucking the clock's treasure from its case; it was a decorated urn. He crosses the room again, returning to the black couch. Opening the diary, a note falls out and he gingerly picks it up, reading it again:

I'm sorry, Sehun. I'm sorry I got sick. Hyung is sorry. Please be happy. Live and forget me.

And how could Sehun live without his heart? Sehun, too, had died at four o' clock a year ago. His heart was resting in Lu Han's urn, embraced by the older's remains while his body remained breathing and reading that last letter again.

END

20131114 - Makes 0 sense even to Jaedelle. Typo mania, probably . . . Jaedelle was trying for a more artistic approach with imagery and no dialogue, but ._______. Inspired by Lyn's "Back in Time" (The Moon That Embraces the Sun OST) and the myth of seasons (Persephone and Hades). The number 4 sounds like "to die" in Chinese, so that's why it's referenced, and the two rings is for the living and the dead~ Yeah, not writing like this ever again -_-

(Partial) explanation -

1st chunk: It's been many years since Sehun and Lu Han passed away (future).

2nd chunk: flashback to how they were in the beginning as a couple (past).

3rd: Sehun fell asleep (present).

4th: flashback

5th: Lu Han's death; remote past? (think I figured it out)

6th: Lu Han's funeral (past)

7th: Present time; 1 year after Lu Han passed away from some illness

20131115 - minor grammar edit