{exo} In Remnants of Spring (2/3)
title: In Remnants of Spring
pairing: Xiumin/girl!Luhan, instance of Xiumin/girl!Sehun, girl!Luhan/Yixing, side! girl!Suho/Kris
word count: 21,346
rating: R
warning(s): (highlight to see) instances of character death, gore
summary: Luhan isn’t one to play Russian roulette with fate, but she takes her chances anyway. Maybe it’s because of the fact that she keeps finding herself falling in love for the same person more than once.
(part 1)
✞
It’s strange, because Xiumin left her door unlocked when he leaves. She thinks he just might have forgotten, but the way he looked at her right before he left just as he’s carrying with him the tray containing her medicine (“Painkillers”, Kyungseon had told her the first time she was given a tablet. “And some others to help with the psychological trauma”) as if he wants to say something but couldn’t, because someone is stopping him - told her that this wasn’t just some mistake-that he’s really given her the liberty to go out, even if it was just for once.
Lu pads out of the room on her bare feet, the coldness of the marble tiles of the whitewashed facility enough to keep her in focus. She walks on a straight line, as if balancing on a tightrope, mostly because old habits die hard.
There’s a door by the corner that’s partially opened, and she takes a peek before going in after confirming that no one was inside.
The room looks straight out of a movie: a biology laboratory of a private university, with a counter crowded with various equipment and cabinets with see-through glass panels, where bottles of preserved bodies of dead animals are stocked up.
Lu comes closer to the nearest part of the cabinet and stands on her tiptoes, taking a peek of what it looks like up close. She staggers back moments later, blood rushing cold and guts feeling mushed up together after realizing that no, it wasn’t just a preserved animal, but a preserved fetus. She almost gags, because even if it was for medical purposes, wasn’t it unethical to keep a fetus in a glass jar? Wasn’t it supposed to be buried instead?
She swallows the bile that had risen up her throat and suppresses the feeling of queasiness that has surfaced, choosing to look around even more. There are more bottles, and upon closer inspection, Lu realizes that none of them contained animals and are actually filled with unborn human children, varying in sizes but still comparatively smaller than the one she first saw. There’s a sick feeling in her gut and a voice in her head that sounds like Xiumin, telling her that she should get out of there quickly, but something else pulls at her and she proceeds to check the next set of bottles, lined up on display.
And they are definitely much, much worse.
There’s a finger, and an eyeball, and what seems to be parts of a brain. All of them have pictures as labels-pictures not of animals, but of humans, young and old, lying down, eyes closed, unfeeling.
And dead.
At the very end, there’s a heart whose crimson color has not yet faded, still intact. Still beating.
The voice inside Lu’s head becomes louder; more insistent, and this time, she complies, rushing out as fast as she can. But the thing is, fate doesn’t seem to know what proper timing is, because she bumps right into Kyungseon the moment she gets out, and she falls back, landing on her butt. There’s a look of confusion over Kyungseon’s face at first as she registers what has happened, but it doesn’t give Lu enough time to get up and get away, because the next thing she knows, Kyungseon’s fingers are around her wrist, holding her in a death grip. The smaller girl is looking at her with a murderous glare, eyes speaking up the flaring anger inside of her. Kyungseon looks more of a monster than she thought her parents were, and an even greater demon than the ring master.
Do Kyungseon was the type of monster who would let you in her home and feed you the most delicious food, only to cut you up and eat you out later. This much is evident in the way she yanks Lu up with a forceful grasp, when only hours ago, she was entertaining Lu’s nonstop idle chatter with an amused smile. “I specifically told you to never get out of your room unless I told you to, didn’t I?”
Of all the things Lu wants to say, only the words “You’re a monster,” comes out of her mouth, choked, as if they had been forced out of her.
Kyungseon arches a perfect eyebrow, as if daring her to say more. It is more of arrogance than anger now. “So you noticed. I doubt though, that you do know just how much of a monster I am.” Lu isn’t sure what exactly Kyungseon is talking about, but then she remembers the other people she left at the circus who “couldn’t be saved”, and Xiumin, who never usually speaks unless needed and only ever follows Kyungseon’s orders. And she knows.
“What exactly have you done to them?” her voice is shaking now, hands forming into fists against her sides, the gloves tightening around her fingers as they stretch.
“Nothing much, really,” Kyungseon shrugs, and she looks so much like a little child that all murderous tendencies seem to be docile and far from menacing. “I just had to sort through my options first, clean out the clutter. And do some tests, to check if anyone’s ever eligible. Either that, or they just add up to the pile of failures.”
“And what, you keep them for your collection?” It wasn’t an accusation, most of like an observation, really.
Kyungseon smirks. “Maybe.”
Maybe it was because of Kyungseon’s unabated egotism. Maybe it was because Lu wanted revenge for everybody else. Maybe because she could see that whatever’s at the end of the tunnel is much, much worse, so she decides to close it up, even if it means she’s left buried under a pile of rubble as the tunnel collapses.
With a single move, Lu takes off the glove on her right hand and reaches out, just enough to touch. It seems like an ironic thing to do, considering how repulsed she feels, but Lu knows more. The effect is quick, Kyungseon’s skin turning into an ugly shade of black, the color spreading faster with every ticking second, covering every inch of Kyungseon’s arm.
Kyungseon is able to pull back, but the damage is done, and her whole arm has decayed, skin blackened and wilted. Lu takes this to her advantage, running to wherever her feet will take her. It’s not like she knows the whole building’s blueprint to be confident in her choice of passageways, but she’d rather get lost in the vast maze left unexplored that is the building than stay in her spot and wait for judgment as Kyungseon mourns her ruined arm.
Lu runs and runs and runs, breathing heavy as her lungs burn. She isn’t sure how, but she ends up in the rooftop, trapped, with no other way out than the one she came in.
She hears the sound of footsteps becoming louder and louder every second, and she turns just in time to come face-to-face with her saviors-no, captors-both with guns in hand, aimed at her.
Kyungseon is awkwardly holding a Beretta 92D with her left hand, and she would’ve looked like she was just holding a toy gun and is messing around, if not for her icy glare. This was real, and the coldness in their eyes was enough to send shivers down her spine. “Shame. I would’ve been able to use your talent, but you’re just getting out of hand.” They’ve done this plenty of times, they would never miss.
Lu looks behind her, considering the fall. It’s a twenty-foot drop to the ground, and either way, whichever option she chooses in an attempt to get out of such a god-forsaken precipice, there is more than a ninety-percent chance that she will still end up dead. Kyungseon smiles a chillingly beautiful smile upon seeing Lu’s hesitation, the ends of her lips turned up wickedly. There is no way out.
Lu turns her attention to Xiumin, for any recognition or signs of pity, at least. Something that she could link back to the boy who tried to help her out; to the boy who was always there, but barely says anything; to the boy who, she recalls, is the one from her dreams. But he remains stoic, expression blank and devoid of any emotion.
That is when she realizes what was different from him from the last time she’s seen him: his eyes weren’t the same anymore.
Those brilliant hazel brown eyes that have always dazzled her are now coated with ice, an edge of coldness sticking out. They remained with a hazel color, but for all it’s worth, they could have been as pitch black as the night sky-like glassy orbs emptied of any emotion.
She closes her eyes, remembering how tragically it had ended for her during the first time. Maybe next time. In another next time, at least.
Kyungseon says something to Xiumin that she doesn’t quite catch, but she knows what it would mean, anyway. She stands still.
It’s him who kills her with one, two, three bullets; straight through the forehead, the other passing through the hollow of her cheekbones, and the last one aimed for her heart. She doesn’t see the hesitation that passes over his eyes before he is taken over with the instinct of killing upon order, and even Kyungseon doesn’t notice the sparkle in his eyes, as if he’s about to shed tears.
Even as she dies, she hopes he would remember at least a glimpse of the past just as she did, yet from the deadpanned look in his eyes, he doesn’t seem to regret anything.
Nobody sees his heart breaking, because Xiumin has always been good at pretending.
She lies on the snow-covered rooftop floor, eyes unseeing as the life drains out of her. Cold, dead, and mangled, but still eerily beautiful. Like a fallen angel ripped of its wings, cushioned in a pile of crimson-colored snow.
[III -Counting Stars at Night]
Do stars get lost on their way to the sky? How would you find them?
In the first place, she wasn’t even supposed to be there. She was supposed to be sitting on her desk, flipping through a sports magazine and taking an occasional sip from her cup of cold coffee because she’s finally been left unsupervised by her boss. A friend might call and ask her to hang out because it’s a Friday night anyway- Chanyeol, presumably-and she’ll finally say yes after an uncountable number of refusals because finally, there aren’t any piles of documents she needs to sort through and figure out and she can stop working overtime.
This isn’t the case, however, as she finds herself being dragged along to the airport on such a short notice by a very pissed-looking Zitao. “Damn that old man, I told him to contact me if he has any problems with the trip at most two days before the scheduled flight, but he wouldn’t listen to me just because I’m younger than him.”
Luhan doesn’t know how to respond to that (what would you say to your boss’s son when he’s dissing his own father, anyway?), so she settles for the generic, “What happened, anyway?” pulling at the straps of her hastily-packed backpack. She doesn’t add the string of profanities listed in her head, along with a “Why am I here why am I being dragged to board an airplane heading for another country I’m still supposed to be sleeping at this hour oh god it’s only seven, your father pays me for a 9am job this isn’t what I asked for”.
“I have no idea,” Zitao says seriously, and Luhan doesn’t need to be a psychologist to know that he’s saying the truth, because she knows that there’s been a rift in the family ever since his parents got divorced a few years back. “He said it was an emergency that he can’t even postpone, so you’re the one substituting for him since you already know most of all that shit.”
Curse him and his vague memorandums. But Luhan just has to deal with it, because it’s her job. “But why do we need to send a representative? This is the first time they’re doing this, right?”
Zitao shrugs. “Some shit about tourism and connections. Even though their entertainment industry is already big, they still need more connections. The good thing about that, though, is that the company will gain a form of untold public advertisement from this.”
“Hey, what if the old man’s actually getting fucked right now, though?” Zitao suggests out of the blue, and Luhan has to fight the urge to gag on his Yves Saint Laurent fur coat because it’s too early to think of such vulgar things related to someone who she’ll always see as a hermit. It still surprises her how casually the guy talks about his father as if they weren’t blood relatives.
“Oh god, please, please don’t suggest things like that. I don’t want to know anything about my boss’s sexual exploits.” She squeezes the bridge of her nose, banishing away any unwanted images her imagination automatically conjures up.
“Don’t worry, I’m not too excited with the prospect of finding out my father’s kinks either. Just a thought, though.” Zitao shrugs. “Now shoo, I don’t want the imperial family to send your dismembered head over if you end up doing anything wrong, especially if it’s just because you were late. I like opening packages right after eating, and having any of that wouldn’t help with digestion.”
Luhan wants to ask why it wasn’t Zitao himself who went as the company’s representative since he’s pretty much capable of doing so too, given that he was the heir of the entertainment empire the old man has established, but thinks better of it anyway, because she doesn’t want to be lashed out on at 7am in case Zitao was in a bad mood.
Well at least she’s going on a trip to Korea in the first class section, all expenses paid.
✯
Luhan could feel it in her bones the first time she lays eyes on him; she knows this guy, yet she holds herself back. How do you tell the crown prince of Korea that you’re having a hunch that the two of you are soul mates, anyway?
So instead, she settles for a ninety-degree bow, her back straight but not stiff, hands relaxed against her sides despite her nerves. The whole time introductions had been made, her eyes kept flitting back to him, as if some sort of invisible force kept pulling at her and whispering at her ear, telling her to look.
The prince bows back, and although she knows she should be listening, his eyes keep her mesmerized and she finds herself staring straight into them, looking for some sort of recognition as if sifting through a pile of clothes.
Luhan remembers something that she’s always dismissed as a dream and thinks of the ghost of a smile in the stead of a face contorted in pain, a breathy sigh in place of a scream of agony-the sound of her own voice pleading for mercy drowned out by the noise of the present.
It was some sort of euphemism for someone who was supposed to never open their eyes to see the sun ever again, and it might have colored out the truth a bit, if not completely, but she’d rather lie to herself and say that she rarely remembers anything, if at all, rather than say the truth and admit that he really did kill her back then, in a lifetime that was previously their own, too.
“…Miss Lu is HLE’s current representative, as we have received a message of apology from CEO Huang that he really wouldn’t be able to attend the festival because of some pressing matters.” The guide assigned to her-Jongdae, was it?-explains, and the empress asks him something about the letter, but it comes out as distant mumbles to Luhan because all she sees is Kim Minseok.
✯
Luhan knows that lots of guests are coming, but she hasn’t expected a long table filled with important people that she’s already almost elbow-to-elbow with the crown prince. She guesses they aren’t as strict as they are now with the royal policies, knowing that even during dinners, royalties tend to sit at the far end of the table with their guest at the other end, but of course that’s just her, because she has no idea how anything in the palace works, having only been basing from the dramas she’s watched.
“What’s it like to work with an idol?” Minseok asks Luhan somewhere during the middle of dinner. She assumes that the emperor and empress have heard, judging from the glances they’ve given in Minseok’s direction, but they don’t seem to pay it any mind. It gives her a weird feeling of being thrown off-balance, remembering that his parents had somehow also been like this the very first time they met. Or so she heard.
Luhan swallows the meat she’s been chewing. “I don’t really know much about that, your majesty, since I work in the office. People like me don’t usually see the idols except during meetings for promotions and things like that. Sometimes we even get to see trainees more often than the ones who already debuted, given that we evaluate their progress every month.”
“Ah, I see. So I guess you wouldn’t be as star struck as their makeup artists would be. Interesting.” He nods, lifting up a wine glass half-filled with clear liquid. “But please, drop the title. We’re just the same age. I don’t like feeling old.”
Luhan smiles. It’s good to know that some things still never change. “As it is then, Minseok.”
✯
Luhan discreetly asks Jongdae questions about the royal family: is there anything in particular that pisses of the emperor or empress the most? Is it true that the empress dowager used to cook the family’s meals, back when she was still able to walk? Does Minseok have any siblings? What’s his best friend like?
The questions stream out easily and she knows that Jongdae is used to these questions from the fact that he directly answers them, taking it as a tourist asking out of curiosity of the place she’s visiting, when in reality, all she wants to know is how Minseok is doing. Was he lucky to have been born in a family that treats people fairly and without judgment, like his previous one? Does he still prefer irises over roses?
They’re taking a tour around the palace, with Jongdae pointing out places, and suddenly, all the facts just lay bare in front of her. “Right, so this pavilion right here is where Minseok’s fiancée stays during her visits. Now I know it’s kind of old fashioned to keep things this way since it’s already the 21st century, but you know the royal family: they don’t like breaking family traditions that much.”
“Fiancee? What do you mean fiancée?” Luhan asks Jongdae, voice caught up in her throat.
Jongdae scratches the back of his head. “Uh well, you know… when a man is engaged to a woman, that woman is called his-“
“No, not that.” Luhan shakes her head. I’m not dumb. “I get it. I understand Korean, remember?”
“Then why are you even asking me?” Luhan isn’t sure if Jongdae looks affronted or just annoyed.
“I mean, he’s 25, why does he already have a fiancée?”
“Well you’re 25, and you’re the assistant of HLE’s CEO.”
“My job doesn’t matter in this argument.” Luhan declares. “What I mean to say is: they still go on with that fixed marriage stuff? It’s the 21st century, for crying out loud!”
“Why do you seem so pressed with this issue?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Hey, really now? Or are you just interested in Minseok that much?”
Luhan almost blushes, but she puffs her cheeks in fake indignation, trying to turn the spotlight away from her. “Hey, just because I’m asking about a person doesn’t mean I like them romantically.” Luhan scolds. Jongdae just chuckles, amused as to how flummoxed the girl looks. He hadn’t thought she would fall easy prey to his teasing.
“Okay, okay,” he gives up. “Her name’s Oh Seyeon. It isn’t technically the mandatorily imposed type of fixed marriage, from what I heard. They were childhood friends, so when the emperor suggested that they get married after Seyeon graduates college, he readily agreed to it.”
Luhan stops walking, hands clenching into fists by her side. Why couldn’t he wait for me? But before Jongdae could notice the shift in her mood, she catches up to him and fixes a smile on her face, but it stays tight. “Ah, I get it now.”
✯
Stars completely dot the skyline the night Minseok asks Luhan to slip out of the palace’s theater house with him in the middle of a performance by Seoul’s Classical Dance Troupe. They go by unnoticed, carefully treading through shortcuts Minseok has memorized by heart that even in the darkness, he finds his footing. She follows his steps with her mind reminding her that he might only be doing this because he’s bored and that she’s the only other person in the confines of the building who seems to understand but her heart’s whispering to believe otherwise.
It’s pathetic to be following him around like this, when in the case that it was a different person, she never would. But she complied because even though she knows that she’s putting the company’s name and her job on the line for this visit, she would never know how to say no to Kim Minseok.
When they reach the vast piece of land that the royal family calls their garden, Minseok wordlessly sits by the fountain, looking up at the sky. Luhan sits beside him, trying to find comfort in the silence that’s continuing to stretch on, dividing a wall between them.
The sound of water flowing out of the angel statue’s hands to the floor of the fountain is the only thing that’s keeping her anchored to reality, and she looks up at the sky, eyes grazing through the constellations. It’s still dark out, but the stars provide enough light to guide a lost soul home. It’s kind of comforting to think about that, but then again, she wonders when Minseok would ever go back home with her.
“I always hear from a lot of people how lucky I am to be the crown prince.” Minseok is the first to share anything personal- the first one to speak up between the two of them, to be exact- that Luhan almost jumps in her skin from surprise. “They think I can do whatever I want, but… that’s hardly the case.”
Luhan has her hands on her lap and she fiddles with her fingers. “Are you telling me this because you’re nervous?”
Minseok peeks at her curiously. “Of what?”
She takes in a deep breath. “Of getting married.” It sounds more of a fact than a question, but Luhan doesn’t correct herself. She doesn’t know where this sudden surge of boldness comes from; just that there’s this urgency creeping up in her veins, whispering that she needs to say what she has to say before it’s too late.
“Ah, so you know about Seyeon.” Minseok nods and gives her a tight smile. She wonders why he doesn’t say anything about her being intrusive, even though she thinks that he might be uncomfortable with her being privy of the facts of his private life despite only knowing each other for a few days. “It’s Jongdae, isn’t it?” Luhan nods an affirmative, and Minseok shrugs in return. “I thought as much.”
She isn’t amazed at how Minseok kept his cool, but rather, she’s astonished as to how he is still practically the same person, even in this time. She’s left to wonder, though, whether he’ll still love her as he did back then, and whether he’ll make the same decision as he did in the past.
Minseok nods back in understanding, staring at his hands. He stays like that for a moment, trying to place his thoughts into words. “It’s not like they forced me into the marriage, it’s more of that they said that it would be good for the family if I ended up marrying Seyeon. And I’ve already known her for such a long time, so why the hell not?”
Minseok notices that Luhan seems to look disappointed. Luhan knows that she is disappointed. “You seemed to have agreed without so much as thinking of the possible consequences it may bring in the future.”
He looks away, snapping his attention back to the sky. He couldn’t stand seeing the dismay in her eyes. The usual excuse comes out of his mouth. “I tend to prioritize what I have at the moment. I’m not that much of a planner. Mom-I mean, the Empress- says I still need to work on that, for the sake of keeping the royal family’s name.”
Luhan crosses her arms over her chest, but she’s able to stop the shiver that almost wracks her entire body. It’s cold out, and she isn’t exactly wearing the best clothes for going on a sudden excursion to an open place. Without saying anything, Minseok removes the jacket he’s wearing over his suit and drapes it over her shoulders. She thanks him, but he only asks her if she has another question in mind. “Do you love her, though?”
Minseok looks at her - stares into the orbs of her eyes and through its depths, and underneath the layers of make-up to cover-up her youth and vulnerability, he tries to read what she really means to say. “I’m not really in the position to say that yet.”
You really still haven’t changed. You’re still dumb.
✯
They don’t talk about it again, but they do remain civil towards each other-friendly, even. Even when Seyeon suddenly comes over for a formal introduction to the royal family’s guests, with the empress making a big fuss over the unannounced arrival of her soon-to-be-daughter-in-law, not having had prepared a lavish dinner beforehand, Minseok pretends he isn’t introducing his fiancée to Luhan. Not because he’s ashamed of Seyeon, but because he doesn’t want to hurt Luhan. He couldn’t really be sure-after all, he’s just assuming-but he thinks he knows why she asked him that question back then, during that night.
And if only he asked, he would’ve confirmed that he was right.
✯
“I like you,” Minseok almost blurts out. The day’s nothing special, really; he’s just sitting there again in the garden in the middle of the night after escaping yet another show (a musical this time) with Luhan, talking about something he’s sure he’s familiar with, but couldn’t quite remember as soon as he got lost in her eyes. But he stops himself, because no, this isn’t right. It isn’t right to find yourself liking someone you just knew for a few days, more so because you seemed to start liking her romantically, which, when measured in a gauge, is comparatively higher than the feelings you’re having towards your fiancée.
They’re watching the stars, with Luhan pointing out the constellations when Minseok involuntarily reaches out to tuck a few stray strands of hair over her ear. Luhan momentarily stiffens before getting a grip of herself, used to years without his touch. Yet a smile is tugging at the ends of her lips as Minseok puts his hand back to rest on his knee, face blushing slightly from his sudden impulsive action.
They stay there, talking and talking and talking and watching the stars all the same, but somehow, when they’re getting back to the theater house, they find their fingers interlaced in each other’s, hands snuggly fitted, warming up each other in the middle of autumn.
If anyone notices their smiles, the lingering touches, the shared looks, and the stolen moments of handholding, nobody points it out.
✯
There isn’t exactly a word for what they are, but Luhan could feel that even if Minseok doesn’t remember, part of him at least recalls how it feels like to be together.
But then her time’s up and she’s leaving, back to the life she was so intent in keeping before fate tried to intervene and bring them back together again.
A simple “goodbye” and a handshake isn’t enough to convey everything Minseok wants to say, but his words are limited; his time booked for someone else who’s staying.
Back when she was just getting ready for her flight to leave for Seoul, Luhan couldn’t wait to be on her way back home. But now, as Minseok squeezes her hand in what she assumes as his way of comforting her since they couldn’t even be even five centimeters closer without anyone doubting anything, she feels lonely at the prospect of returning to the apartment she lives in by herself and waking up knowing that he’ll never be there to greet her over breakfast in the morning.
This is why she doesn’t like hellos much; because whether she likes it or not, goodbyes will always be inevitable. And frankly, she doesn’t know how to make anything good out of farewells.
“I wish you could stay,” Minseok stays over the phone once he has left with his entourage. He’s the only member of the royalty that has volunteered to see her off, and even though he had been permitted, his time had been limited, and he feels like he’s gone just as quickly as he had come-like sand slipping through crevices.
“I can visit,” Luhan offers. “But I know you know that this wouldn’t work. Unless…”
“But I can’t,” Minseok shakes his head, as if she could see him. “Remember what I said back then?”
Luhan sighs. For the Kim Minseok in this lifetime, there is only the present. That’s what he has differently from the time that has passed. “It’s your decision, anyway.”
It’s sad, but he needs to let Luhan go. He likes her, but he likes Seyeon too. And wouldn’t it be better if he settles for someone he has known for a much longer time-someone who his family is in favor of him getting married to? There’s a sniffle at the end of one line and a sigh on the other. “So… This is really goodbye, then.”
Luhan nods. Then, remembering that she’s not with him, she answers, “I understand.”
Minseok ends the call and puts down his phone. He’s sure he’s made the better decision out of the two, but he thinks of the girl with the mousy brown hair and eyes that speak of lifetimes of sorrows and what could have been if only the situation they were in had been different.
✯
Luhan holds her hand out to the sky as another snowflake falls to the ground, and she catches it at the tips of her fingers. More snowflakes are beginning to fall, and she holds the one she’s caught in her hand to her face.
“There’s this myth that says that you can make a wish during the first snow. Is that true?” She remembers asking her mother back when she was a child; back when they were all happily living together and not that far apart from each other. Her mom would always tell her it’s true; her dad, on the other hand, would start telling these stories about the majesty and grandiosity of winter.
She smiles. “We’ll see each other again.”
It’s not a wish, but a promise.
✯
The night sky is dotted with stars twinkling, each one demanding attention when she looks up from where she is standing in an open field, the leaves of the tree beside her swaying against the soft breeze. She knows that this is a dream, mostly because she’s only ever been to a place where the stars shine the brightest not more than a few times, but that place is too far away, and she’s aware that she’s already gotten back home. But her heart still starts beating erratically once she sees a familiar figure’s silhouette outlined by the moon’s mild glow, even if she knows that this is a dream.
She sits down beside him on the grass, but he doesn’t seem to be startled, as if he has been expecting her presence. “Hey, do you know that if you try to reach out your hand, the stars would appear much closer, even if they’re actually miles away?”
She liked stargazing even though she rarely sees stars in their city, but she’s never had a thought of what it would really be like to have seen a star up close. But now she doesn’t feel the need to go to outer space just to know. “That’s probably logic speaking.” She answers, grateful that this was just a dream and that there wouldn’t be any tutors scolding them for being too close to each other or addressing each other informally. She likes this, likes the feeling of his warmth beside her, and the fact that she could just say anything that she wanted to say.
Minseok only hums in response. It takes a few beats before he asks another question. “Do you know that when stars die, they get all burned up, then their flames just disappear, and they turn into black holes?” he turns to look at her this time, and their faces were just inches away from each other that she could smell his peppermint toothpaste. If she just leans forward a little bit, then maybe…
“Now that just doesn’t make any sense, you know.” Luhan frowns, not really getting the gist of what Minseok was trying to say.
“What I’m saying is, “ he touches her face, and she knows that she’s dreaming; she knows that this isn’t true and that she could only hope that it was, but she believes everything, anyway, because she doesn’t have anything else to hold on to. “I might be far away. I might be gone for a while, but I’ll come back.”
“I’ll be back,” he says voice quivering, yet a smile on his face. He runs his thumb along the curves of her cheek bones, and is able to draw out a smile from her, despite the fact that she knows this is another one of those goodbyes whose end no one will ever know. “For you. I’ll do everything I can to find my way back. Can you wait for me?”
She nods, because either way, she would still be waiting for him. Hasn’t she always been? No matter how many days, no matter how many years it may take. Even after death. “Of course.”
And so she waits, day in and day out, for a call or a surprise tap on the shoulder.
But he never comes back.
✯
Luhan takes out the toasted bread she’s made for breakfast and puts it in her mouth. There’s the familiar feeling of normalcy coming back to her as she tries to get used once more to living alone in her apartment. She presses the remote control’s “on” button with a greasy finger, oil marking the button. The thirty-inch television screen projects a woman in baby pink blouse sitting behind a blue desk; it was probably the morning news.
She nods off to what the girl is saying as she takes her seat, the toast still caught in-between her upper and lower teeth. She pinches one end of the bread with her fingers and pulls, chewing thoughtfully as she tries to process the images the television is trying to present.
“A private jet crashed in a forest in Jeju Island, South Korea earlier this morning while on its way to Beijing. There had been three people on the plane, one of which is the current crown prince of South Korea, Kim Minseok. All three were reported to have been dead on arrival.”
Luhan doesn’t hear anything else over the deafening roar of her heart ramming against her rib cage. Minseok was gone now, along with another chance of being with him in this lifetime.
If someone out there was listening, she would’ve wanted to ask when they would have a better fate, but for all it’s worth, she doesn’t think she can say anything at this point, anyway, her chest feeling as if broken shards of glass had been dragged over it repeatedly that she couldn’t even breathe.
✯
(part 3)
pairing: Xiumin/girl!Luhan, instance of Xiumin/girl!Sehun, girl!Luhan/Yixing, side! girl!Suho/Kris
word count: 21,346
rating: R
warning(s): (highlight to see) instances of character death, gore
summary: Luhan isn’t one to play Russian roulette with fate, but she takes her chances anyway. Maybe it’s because of the fact that she keeps finding herself falling in love for the same person more than once.
(part 1)
✞
It’s strange, because Xiumin left her door unlocked when he leaves. She thinks he just might have forgotten, but the way he looked at her right before he left just as he’s carrying with him the tray containing her medicine (“Painkillers”, Kyungseon had told her the first time she was given a tablet. “And some others to help with the psychological trauma”) as if he wants to say something but couldn’t, because someone is stopping him - told her that this wasn’t just some mistake-that he’s really given her the liberty to go out, even if it was just for once.
Lu pads out of the room on her bare feet, the coldness of the marble tiles of the whitewashed facility enough to keep her in focus. She walks on a straight line, as if balancing on a tightrope, mostly because old habits die hard.
There’s a door by the corner that’s partially opened, and she takes a peek before going in after confirming that no one was inside.
The room looks straight out of a movie: a biology laboratory of a private university, with a counter crowded with various equipment and cabinets with see-through glass panels, where bottles of preserved bodies of dead animals are stocked up.
Lu comes closer to the nearest part of the cabinet and stands on her tiptoes, taking a peek of what it looks like up close. She staggers back moments later, blood rushing cold and guts feeling mushed up together after realizing that no, it wasn’t just a preserved animal, but a preserved fetus. She almost gags, because even if it was for medical purposes, wasn’t it unethical to keep a fetus in a glass jar? Wasn’t it supposed to be buried instead?
She swallows the bile that had risen up her throat and suppresses the feeling of queasiness that has surfaced, choosing to look around even more. There are more bottles, and upon closer inspection, Lu realizes that none of them contained animals and are actually filled with unborn human children, varying in sizes but still comparatively smaller than the one she first saw. There’s a sick feeling in her gut and a voice in her head that sounds like Xiumin, telling her that she should get out of there quickly, but something else pulls at her and she proceeds to check the next set of bottles, lined up on display.
And they are definitely much, much worse.
There’s a finger, and an eyeball, and what seems to be parts of a brain. All of them have pictures as labels-pictures not of animals, but of humans, young and old, lying down, eyes closed, unfeeling.
And dead.
At the very end, there’s a heart whose crimson color has not yet faded, still intact. Still beating.
The voice inside Lu’s head becomes louder; more insistent, and this time, she complies, rushing out as fast as she can. But the thing is, fate doesn’t seem to know what proper timing is, because she bumps right into Kyungseon the moment she gets out, and she falls back, landing on her butt. There’s a look of confusion over Kyungseon’s face at first as she registers what has happened, but it doesn’t give Lu enough time to get up and get away, because the next thing she knows, Kyungseon’s fingers are around her wrist, holding her in a death grip. The smaller girl is looking at her with a murderous glare, eyes speaking up the flaring anger inside of her. Kyungseon looks more of a monster than she thought her parents were, and an even greater demon than the ring master.
Do Kyungseon was the type of monster who would let you in her home and feed you the most delicious food, only to cut you up and eat you out later. This much is evident in the way she yanks Lu up with a forceful grasp, when only hours ago, she was entertaining Lu’s nonstop idle chatter with an amused smile. “I specifically told you to never get out of your room unless I told you to, didn’t I?”
Of all the things Lu wants to say, only the words “You’re a monster,” comes out of her mouth, choked, as if they had been forced out of her.
Kyungseon arches a perfect eyebrow, as if daring her to say more. It is more of arrogance than anger now. “So you noticed. I doubt though, that you do know just how much of a monster I am.” Lu isn’t sure what exactly Kyungseon is talking about, but then she remembers the other people she left at the circus who “couldn’t be saved”, and Xiumin, who never usually speaks unless needed and only ever follows Kyungseon’s orders. And she knows.
“What exactly have you done to them?” her voice is shaking now, hands forming into fists against her sides, the gloves tightening around her fingers as they stretch.
“Nothing much, really,” Kyungseon shrugs, and she looks so much like a little child that all murderous tendencies seem to be docile and far from menacing. “I just had to sort through my options first, clean out the clutter. And do some tests, to check if anyone’s ever eligible. Either that, or they just add up to the pile of failures.”
“And what, you keep them for your collection?” It wasn’t an accusation, most of like an observation, really.
Kyungseon smirks. “Maybe.”
Maybe it was because of Kyungseon’s unabated egotism. Maybe it was because Lu wanted revenge for everybody else. Maybe because she could see that whatever’s at the end of the tunnel is much, much worse, so she decides to close it up, even if it means she’s left buried under a pile of rubble as the tunnel collapses.
With a single move, Lu takes off the glove on her right hand and reaches out, just enough to touch. It seems like an ironic thing to do, considering how repulsed she feels, but Lu knows more. The effect is quick, Kyungseon’s skin turning into an ugly shade of black, the color spreading faster with every ticking second, covering every inch of Kyungseon’s arm.
Kyungseon is able to pull back, but the damage is done, and her whole arm has decayed, skin blackened and wilted. Lu takes this to her advantage, running to wherever her feet will take her. It’s not like she knows the whole building’s blueprint to be confident in her choice of passageways, but she’d rather get lost in the vast maze left unexplored that is the building than stay in her spot and wait for judgment as Kyungseon mourns her ruined arm.
Lu runs and runs and runs, breathing heavy as her lungs burn. She isn’t sure how, but she ends up in the rooftop, trapped, with no other way out than the one she came in.
She hears the sound of footsteps becoming louder and louder every second, and she turns just in time to come face-to-face with her saviors-no, captors-both with guns in hand, aimed at her.
Kyungseon is awkwardly holding a Beretta 92D with her left hand, and she would’ve looked like she was just holding a toy gun and is messing around, if not for her icy glare. This was real, and the coldness in their eyes was enough to send shivers down her spine. “Shame. I would’ve been able to use your talent, but you’re just getting out of hand.” They’ve done this plenty of times, they would never miss.
Lu looks behind her, considering the fall. It’s a twenty-foot drop to the ground, and either way, whichever option she chooses in an attempt to get out of such a god-forsaken precipice, there is more than a ninety-percent chance that she will still end up dead. Kyungseon smiles a chillingly beautiful smile upon seeing Lu’s hesitation, the ends of her lips turned up wickedly. There is no way out.
Lu turns her attention to Xiumin, for any recognition or signs of pity, at least. Something that she could link back to the boy who tried to help her out; to the boy who was always there, but barely says anything; to the boy who, she recalls, is the one from her dreams. But he remains stoic, expression blank and devoid of any emotion.
That is when she realizes what was different from him from the last time she’s seen him: his eyes weren’t the same anymore.
Those brilliant hazel brown eyes that have always dazzled her are now coated with ice, an edge of coldness sticking out. They remained with a hazel color, but for all it’s worth, they could have been as pitch black as the night sky-like glassy orbs emptied of any emotion.
She closes her eyes, remembering how tragically it had ended for her during the first time. Maybe next time. In another next time, at least.
Kyungseon says something to Xiumin that she doesn’t quite catch, but she knows what it would mean, anyway. She stands still.
It’s him who kills her with one, two, three bullets; straight through the forehead, the other passing through the hollow of her cheekbones, and the last one aimed for her heart. She doesn’t see the hesitation that passes over his eyes before he is taken over with the instinct of killing upon order, and even Kyungseon doesn’t notice the sparkle in his eyes, as if he’s about to shed tears.
Even as she dies, she hopes he would remember at least a glimpse of the past just as she did, yet from the deadpanned look in his eyes, he doesn’t seem to regret anything.
Nobody sees his heart breaking, because Xiumin has always been good at pretending.
She lies on the snow-covered rooftop floor, eyes unseeing as the life drains out of her. Cold, dead, and mangled, but still eerily beautiful. Like a fallen angel ripped of its wings, cushioned in a pile of crimson-colored snow.
[III -Counting Stars at Night]
Do stars get lost on their way to the sky? How would you find them?
In the first place, she wasn’t even supposed to be there. She was supposed to be sitting on her desk, flipping through a sports magazine and taking an occasional sip from her cup of cold coffee because she’s finally been left unsupervised by her boss. A friend might call and ask her to hang out because it’s a Friday night anyway- Chanyeol, presumably-and she’ll finally say yes after an uncountable number of refusals because finally, there aren’t any piles of documents she needs to sort through and figure out and she can stop working overtime.
This isn’t the case, however, as she finds herself being dragged along to the airport on such a short notice by a very pissed-looking Zitao. “Damn that old man, I told him to contact me if he has any problems with the trip at most two days before the scheduled flight, but he wouldn’t listen to me just because I’m younger than him.”
Luhan doesn’t know how to respond to that (what would you say to your boss’s son when he’s dissing his own father, anyway?), so she settles for the generic, “What happened, anyway?” pulling at the straps of her hastily-packed backpack. She doesn’t add the string of profanities listed in her head, along with a “Why am I here why am I being dragged to board an airplane heading for another country I’m still supposed to be sleeping at this hour oh god it’s only seven, your father pays me for a 9am job this isn’t what I asked for”.
“I have no idea,” Zitao says seriously, and Luhan doesn’t need to be a psychologist to know that he’s saying the truth, because she knows that there’s been a rift in the family ever since his parents got divorced a few years back. “He said it was an emergency that he can’t even postpone, so you’re the one substituting for him since you already know most of all that shit.”
Curse him and his vague memorandums. But Luhan just has to deal with it, because it’s her job. “But why do we need to send a representative? This is the first time they’re doing this, right?”
Zitao shrugs. “Some shit about tourism and connections. Even though their entertainment industry is already big, they still need more connections. The good thing about that, though, is that the company will gain a form of untold public advertisement from this.”
“Hey, what if the old man’s actually getting fucked right now, though?” Zitao suggests out of the blue, and Luhan has to fight the urge to gag on his Yves Saint Laurent fur coat because it’s too early to think of such vulgar things related to someone who she’ll always see as a hermit. It still surprises her how casually the guy talks about his father as if they weren’t blood relatives.
“Oh god, please, please don’t suggest things like that. I don’t want to know anything about my boss’s sexual exploits.” She squeezes the bridge of her nose, banishing away any unwanted images her imagination automatically conjures up.
“Don’t worry, I’m not too excited with the prospect of finding out my father’s kinks either. Just a thought, though.” Zitao shrugs. “Now shoo, I don’t want the imperial family to send your dismembered head over if you end up doing anything wrong, especially if it’s just because you were late. I like opening packages right after eating, and having any of that wouldn’t help with digestion.”
Luhan wants to ask why it wasn’t Zitao himself who went as the company’s representative since he’s pretty much capable of doing so too, given that he was the heir of the entertainment empire the old man has established, but thinks better of it anyway, because she doesn’t want to be lashed out on at 7am in case Zitao was in a bad mood.
Well at least she’s going on a trip to Korea in the first class section, all expenses paid.
✯
Luhan could feel it in her bones the first time she lays eyes on him; she knows this guy, yet she holds herself back. How do you tell the crown prince of Korea that you’re having a hunch that the two of you are soul mates, anyway?
So instead, she settles for a ninety-degree bow, her back straight but not stiff, hands relaxed against her sides despite her nerves. The whole time introductions had been made, her eyes kept flitting back to him, as if some sort of invisible force kept pulling at her and whispering at her ear, telling her to look.
The prince bows back, and although she knows she should be listening, his eyes keep her mesmerized and she finds herself staring straight into them, looking for some sort of recognition as if sifting through a pile of clothes.
Luhan remembers something that she’s always dismissed as a dream and thinks of the ghost of a smile in the stead of a face contorted in pain, a breathy sigh in place of a scream of agony-the sound of her own voice pleading for mercy drowned out by the noise of the present.
It was some sort of euphemism for someone who was supposed to never open their eyes to see the sun ever again, and it might have colored out the truth a bit, if not completely, but she’d rather lie to herself and say that she rarely remembers anything, if at all, rather than say the truth and admit that he really did kill her back then, in a lifetime that was previously their own, too.
“…Miss Lu is HLE’s current representative, as we have received a message of apology from CEO Huang that he really wouldn’t be able to attend the festival because of some pressing matters.” The guide assigned to her-Jongdae, was it?-explains, and the empress asks him something about the letter, but it comes out as distant mumbles to Luhan because all she sees is Kim Minseok.
✯
Luhan knows that lots of guests are coming, but she hasn’t expected a long table filled with important people that she’s already almost elbow-to-elbow with the crown prince. She guesses they aren’t as strict as they are now with the royal policies, knowing that even during dinners, royalties tend to sit at the far end of the table with their guest at the other end, but of course that’s just her, because she has no idea how anything in the palace works, having only been basing from the dramas she’s watched.
“What’s it like to work with an idol?” Minseok asks Luhan somewhere during the middle of dinner. She assumes that the emperor and empress have heard, judging from the glances they’ve given in Minseok’s direction, but they don’t seem to pay it any mind. It gives her a weird feeling of being thrown off-balance, remembering that his parents had somehow also been like this the very first time they met. Or so she heard.
Luhan swallows the meat she’s been chewing. “I don’t really know much about that, your majesty, since I work in the office. People like me don’t usually see the idols except during meetings for promotions and things like that. Sometimes we even get to see trainees more often than the ones who already debuted, given that we evaluate their progress every month.”
“Ah, I see. So I guess you wouldn’t be as star struck as their makeup artists would be. Interesting.” He nods, lifting up a wine glass half-filled with clear liquid. “But please, drop the title. We’re just the same age. I don’t like feeling old.”
Luhan smiles. It’s good to know that some things still never change. “As it is then, Minseok.”
✯
Luhan discreetly asks Jongdae questions about the royal family: is there anything in particular that pisses of the emperor or empress the most? Is it true that the empress dowager used to cook the family’s meals, back when she was still able to walk? Does Minseok have any siblings? What’s his best friend like?
The questions stream out easily and she knows that Jongdae is used to these questions from the fact that he directly answers them, taking it as a tourist asking out of curiosity of the place she’s visiting, when in reality, all she wants to know is how Minseok is doing. Was he lucky to have been born in a family that treats people fairly and without judgment, like his previous one? Does he still prefer irises over roses?
They’re taking a tour around the palace, with Jongdae pointing out places, and suddenly, all the facts just lay bare in front of her. “Right, so this pavilion right here is where Minseok’s fiancée stays during her visits. Now I know it’s kind of old fashioned to keep things this way since it’s already the 21st century, but you know the royal family: they don’t like breaking family traditions that much.”
“Fiancee? What do you mean fiancée?” Luhan asks Jongdae, voice caught up in her throat.
Jongdae scratches the back of his head. “Uh well, you know… when a man is engaged to a woman, that woman is called his-“
“No, not that.” Luhan shakes her head. I’m not dumb. “I get it. I understand Korean, remember?”
“Then why are you even asking me?” Luhan isn’t sure if Jongdae looks affronted or just annoyed.
“I mean, he’s 25, why does he already have a fiancée?”
“Well you’re 25, and you’re the assistant of HLE’s CEO.”
“My job doesn’t matter in this argument.” Luhan declares. “What I mean to say is: they still go on with that fixed marriage stuff? It’s the 21st century, for crying out loud!”
“Why do you seem so pressed with this issue?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Hey, really now? Or are you just interested in Minseok that much?”
Luhan almost blushes, but she puffs her cheeks in fake indignation, trying to turn the spotlight away from her. “Hey, just because I’m asking about a person doesn’t mean I like them romantically.” Luhan scolds. Jongdae just chuckles, amused as to how flummoxed the girl looks. He hadn’t thought she would fall easy prey to his teasing.
“Okay, okay,” he gives up. “Her name’s Oh Seyeon. It isn’t technically the mandatorily imposed type of fixed marriage, from what I heard. They were childhood friends, so when the emperor suggested that they get married after Seyeon graduates college, he readily agreed to it.”
Luhan stops walking, hands clenching into fists by her side. Why couldn’t he wait for me? But before Jongdae could notice the shift in her mood, she catches up to him and fixes a smile on her face, but it stays tight. “Ah, I get it now.”
✯
Stars completely dot the skyline the night Minseok asks Luhan to slip out of the palace’s theater house with him in the middle of a performance by Seoul’s Classical Dance Troupe. They go by unnoticed, carefully treading through shortcuts Minseok has memorized by heart that even in the darkness, he finds his footing. She follows his steps with her mind reminding her that he might only be doing this because he’s bored and that she’s the only other person in the confines of the building who seems to understand but her heart’s whispering to believe otherwise.
It’s pathetic to be following him around like this, when in the case that it was a different person, she never would. But she complied because even though she knows that she’s putting the company’s name and her job on the line for this visit, she would never know how to say no to Kim Minseok.
When they reach the vast piece of land that the royal family calls their garden, Minseok wordlessly sits by the fountain, looking up at the sky. Luhan sits beside him, trying to find comfort in the silence that’s continuing to stretch on, dividing a wall between them.
The sound of water flowing out of the angel statue’s hands to the floor of the fountain is the only thing that’s keeping her anchored to reality, and she looks up at the sky, eyes grazing through the constellations. It’s still dark out, but the stars provide enough light to guide a lost soul home. It’s kind of comforting to think about that, but then again, she wonders when Minseok would ever go back home with her.
“I always hear from a lot of people how lucky I am to be the crown prince.” Minseok is the first to share anything personal- the first one to speak up between the two of them, to be exact- that Luhan almost jumps in her skin from surprise. “They think I can do whatever I want, but… that’s hardly the case.”
Luhan has her hands on her lap and she fiddles with her fingers. “Are you telling me this because you’re nervous?”
Minseok peeks at her curiously. “Of what?”
She takes in a deep breath. “Of getting married.” It sounds more of a fact than a question, but Luhan doesn’t correct herself. She doesn’t know where this sudden surge of boldness comes from; just that there’s this urgency creeping up in her veins, whispering that she needs to say what she has to say before it’s too late.
“Ah, so you know about Seyeon.” Minseok nods and gives her a tight smile. She wonders why he doesn’t say anything about her being intrusive, even though she thinks that he might be uncomfortable with her being privy of the facts of his private life despite only knowing each other for a few days. “It’s Jongdae, isn’t it?” Luhan nods an affirmative, and Minseok shrugs in return. “I thought as much.”
She isn’t amazed at how Minseok kept his cool, but rather, she’s astonished as to how he is still practically the same person, even in this time. She’s left to wonder, though, whether he’ll still love her as he did back then, and whether he’ll make the same decision as he did in the past.
Minseok nods back in understanding, staring at his hands. He stays like that for a moment, trying to place his thoughts into words. “It’s not like they forced me into the marriage, it’s more of that they said that it would be good for the family if I ended up marrying Seyeon. And I’ve already known her for such a long time, so why the hell not?”
Minseok notices that Luhan seems to look disappointed. Luhan knows that she is disappointed. “You seemed to have agreed without so much as thinking of the possible consequences it may bring in the future.”
He looks away, snapping his attention back to the sky. He couldn’t stand seeing the dismay in her eyes. The usual excuse comes out of his mouth. “I tend to prioritize what I have at the moment. I’m not that much of a planner. Mom-I mean, the Empress- says I still need to work on that, for the sake of keeping the royal family’s name.”
Luhan crosses her arms over her chest, but she’s able to stop the shiver that almost wracks her entire body. It’s cold out, and she isn’t exactly wearing the best clothes for going on a sudden excursion to an open place. Without saying anything, Minseok removes the jacket he’s wearing over his suit and drapes it over her shoulders. She thanks him, but he only asks her if she has another question in mind. “Do you love her, though?”
Minseok looks at her - stares into the orbs of her eyes and through its depths, and underneath the layers of make-up to cover-up her youth and vulnerability, he tries to read what she really means to say. “I’m not really in the position to say that yet.”
You really still haven’t changed. You’re still dumb.
✯
They don’t talk about it again, but they do remain civil towards each other-friendly, even. Even when Seyeon suddenly comes over for a formal introduction to the royal family’s guests, with the empress making a big fuss over the unannounced arrival of her soon-to-be-daughter-in-law, not having had prepared a lavish dinner beforehand, Minseok pretends he isn’t introducing his fiancée to Luhan. Not because he’s ashamed of Seyeon, but because he doesn’t want to hurt Luhan. He couldn’t really be sure-after all, he’s just assuming-but he thinks he knows why she asked him that question back then, during that night.
And if only he asked, he would’ve confirmed that he was right.
✯
“I like you,” Minseok almost blurts out. The day’s nothing special, really; he’s just sitting there again in the garden in the middle of the night after escaping yet another show (a musical this time) with Luhan, talking about something he’s sure he’s familiar with, but couldn’t quite remember as soon as he got lost in her eyes. But he stops himself, because no, this isn’t right. It isn’t right to find yourself liking someone you just knew for a few days, more so because you seemed to start liking her romantically, which, when measured in a gauge, is comparatively higher than the feelings you’re having towards your fiancée.
They’re watching the stars, with Luhan pointing out the constellations when Minseok involuntarily reaches out to tuck a few stray strands of hair over her ear. Luhan momentarily stiffens before getting a grip of herself, used to years without his touch. Yet a smile is tugging at the ends of her lips as Minseok puts his hand back to rest on his knee, face blushing slightly from his sudden impulsive action.
They stay there, talking and talking and talking and watching the stars all the same, but somehow, when they’re getting back to the theater house, they find their fingers interlaced in each other’s, hands snuggly fitted, warming up each other in the middle of autumn.
If anyone notices their smiles, the lingering touches, the shared looks, and the stolen moments of handholding, nobody points it out.
✯
There isn’t exactly a word for what they are, but Luhan could feel that even if Minseok doesn’t remember, part of him at least recalls how it feels like to be together.
But then her time’s up and she’s leaving, back to the life she was so intent in keeping before fate tried to intervene and bring them back together again.
A simple “goodbye” and a handshake isn’t enough to convey everything Minseok wants to say, but his words are limited; his time booked for someone else who’s staying.
Back when she was just getting ready for her flight to leave for Seoul, Luhan couldn’t wait to be on her way back home. But now, as Minseok squeezes her hand in what she assumes as his way of comforting her since they couldn’t even be even five centimeters closer without anyone doubting anything, she feels lonely at the prospect of returning to the apartment she lives in by herself and waking up knowing that he’ll never be there to greet her over breakfast in the morning.
This is why she doesn’t like hellos much; because whether she likes it or not, goodbyes will always be inevitable. And frankly, she doesn’t know how to make anything good out of farewells.
“I wish you could stay,” Minseok stays over the phone once he has left with his entourage. He’s the only member of the royalty that has volunteered to see her off, and even though he had been permitted, his time had been limited, and he feels like he’s gone just as quickly as he had come-like sand slipping through crevices.
“I can visit,” Luhan offers. “But I know you know that this wouldn’t work. Unless…”
“But I can’t,” Minseok shakes his head, as if she could see him. “Remember what I said back then?”
Luhan sighs. For the Kim Minseok in this lifetime, there is only the present. That’s what he has differently from the time that has passed. “It’s your decision, anyway.”
It’s sad, but he needs to let Luhan go. He likes her, but he likes Seyeon too. And wouldn’t it be better if he settles for someone he has known for a much longer time-someone who his family is in favor of him getting married to? There’s a sniffle at the end of one line and a sigh on the other. “So… This is really goodbye, then.”
Luhan nods. Then, remembering that she’s not with him, she answers, “I understand.”
Minseok ends the call and puts down his phone. He’s sure he’s made the better decision out of the two, but he thinks of the girl with the mousy brown hair and eyes that speak of lifetimes of sorrows and what could have been if only the situation they were in had been different.
✯
Luhan holds her hand out to the sky as another snowflake falls to the ground, and she catches it at the tips of her fingers. More snowflakes are beginning to fall, and she holds the one she’s caught in her hand to her face.
“There’s this myth that says that you can make a wish during the first snow. Is that true?” She remembers asking her mother back when she was a child; back when they were all happily living together and not that far apart from each other. Her mom would always tell her it’s true; her dad, on the other hand, would start telling these stories about the majesty and grandiosity of winter.
She smiles. “We’ll see each other again.”
It’s not a wish, but a promise.
✯
The night sky is dotted with stars twinkling, each one demanding attention when she looks up from where she is standing in an open field, the leaves of the tree beside her swaying against the soft breeze. She knows that this is a dream, mostly because she’s only ever been to a place where the stars shine the brightest not more than a few times, but that place is too far away, and she’s aware that she’s already gotten back home. But her heart still starts beating erratically once she sees a familiar figure’s silhouette outlined by the moon’s mild glow, even if she knows that this is a dream.
She sits down beside him on the grass, but he doesn’t seem to be startled, as if he has been expecting her presence. “Hey, do you know that if you try to reach out your hand, the stars would appear much closer, even if they’re actually miles away?”
She liked stargazing even though she rarely sees stars in their city, but she’s never had a thought of what it would really be like to have seen a star up close. But now she doesn’t feel the need to go to outer space just to know. “That’s probably logic speaking.” She answers, grateful that this was just a dream and that there wouldn’t be any tutors scolding them for being too close to each other or addressing each other informally. She likes this, likes the feeling of his warmth beside her, and the fact that she could just say anything that she wanted to say.
Minseok only hums in response. It takes a few beats before he asks another question. “Do you know that when stars die, they get all burned up, then their flames just disappear, and they turn into black holes?” he turns to look at her this time, and their faces were just inches away from each other that she could smell his peppermint toothpaste. If she just leans forward a little bit, then maybe…
“Now that just doesn’t make any sense, you know.” Luhan frowns, not really getting the gist of what Minseok was trying to say.
“What I’m saying is, “ he touches her face, and she knows that she’s dreaming; she knows that this isn’t true and that she could only hope that it was, but she believes everything, anyway, because she doesn’t have anything else to hold on to. “I might be far away. I might be gone for a while, but I’ll come back.”
“I’ll be back,” he says voice quivering, yet a smile on his face. He runs his thumb along the curves of her cheek bones, and is able to draw out a smile from her, despite the fact that she knows this is another one of those goodbyes whose end no one will ever know. “For you. I’ll do everything I can to find my way back. Can you wait for me?”
She nods, because either way, she would still be waiting for him. Hasn’t she always been? No matter how many days, no matter how many years it may take. Even after death. “Of course.”
And so she waits, day in and day out, for a call or a surprise tap on the shoulder.
But he never comes back.
✯
Luhan takes out the toasted bread she’s made for breakfast and puts it in her mouth. There’s the familiar feeling of normalcy coming back to her as she tries to get used once more to living alone in her apartment. She presses the remote control’s “on” button with a greasy finger, oil marking the button. The thirty-inch television screen projects a woman in baby pink blouse sitting behind a blue desk; it was probably the morning news.
She nods off to what the girl is saying as she takes her seat, the toast still caught in-between her upper and lower teeth. She pinches one end of the bread with her fingers and pulls, chewing thoughtfully as she tries to process the images the television is trying to present.
“A private jet crashed in a forest in Jeju Island, South Korea earlier this morning while on its way to Beijing. There had been three people on the plane, one of which is the current crown prince of South Korea, Kim Minseok. All three were reported to have been dead on arrival.”
Luhan doesn’t hear anything else over the deafening roar of her heart ramming against her rib cage. Minseok was gone now, along with another chance of being with him in this lifetime.
If someone out there was listening, she would’ve wanted to ask when they would have a better fate, but for all it’s worth, she doesn’t think she can say anything at this point, anyway, her chest feeling as if broken shards of glass had been dragged over it repeatedly that she couldn’t even breathe.
✯
(part 3)