There are two persons you will meet in life:

one will vibrant your youth, the other will soften time.

*

After many years, Hyukjae finally understood how futile his attempts had been to merge the two into one. Leaning forward on a wooden chair, late afternoon sunlight pouring through fluttering sheers, fingers no longer smooth tenderly over the photo frame that was propped up on the tabletop. Inside, three beaming faces were frozen in time, on an afternoon that had been as golden as the one today.

Hyukjae laid the heavy frame down, reaching for a tissue to wipe the drops that had dirtied the surface before turning it over. He did not think of himself as an overly emotional person, but as usual, his actions often betrayed what rational behaviors his mind had intended on.

Someone called him from across the walls. He pretended not to hear it, for it was easy for him to use that as an excuse now.

Before his body had started showing signs of defeat against time, he remembered how he would use to sit by that person, listening to the soft melody of his voice. Smooth fingers would be entwined in an intimate embrace, locked tightly together with the intention of pausing the moment forever, even though he knew by now that the word wasn’t something which could exist in reality.

But he didn’t want others to think he was living in regret.

Every word he had said, every fight, every promise—if given a second chance he would still have done exactly same.

Hyukjae only thought about the past as memories, nothing else. They couldn’t be anything else. If he hadn’t gone there, he wouldn’t have met him, and it wouldn’t have happened, and he wouldn’t have hurt him…

He liked to think about the past as if it were a movie. Entertainment. He liked watching the film rewind, play, rewind, and replay again. He could focus on parts he liked, skip over those that stirred forgotten corners of his heart, and laugh along with the characters, the actors, in the film that encompasses his life.

‘Some people could only live on in your memories.’ It wasn’t to say they were no longer alive; they just left after leaving footprints all over the place. Black, dirty footprints that were somehow unable to be scrubbed off, no matter how hard he tried. Maybe he should have left them there as a decoration. Instead, with each effort to clean off, they were ingrained deeper, and burned more with each repeated rumination.

He closed the notebook, setting down his pen. He had had enough. He wanted to forget. Everything about him, everything that could remind him of him, he wanted to escape from and avoid for what days he had left.

The flimsy, worn pages stood no chance against the gust of wind that lifted them up. Just like how he stood no chance against his entering into his world, all those years ago.

It had all started on one familiar, sunny afternoon. 

a/n: after reading the first two lines (in another language- my translation made it 1000000x less amazing but that's the best i could do ><) i just /had/ to write something. this is more of a foreword than a chapter but i honestly have zero idea what to write after it so i'm posting it here bc it /is/ technically from a prompt, right? xD if anyone can suggest a plot (or anything, really. i get inspiration from the weirdest things OTL) i'm always more than happy to hear it ^^