Tempus
Tempus [butterfly kisses one-shot entry]
Jiyong/Seungri | R | Apocalypse AU + Fantasy? | 4,567
Prompt_ You wish you could find something warm because you're shivering cold.
There were four seasons that existed: winter, spring, summer, and autumn. He was winter, born on the twentieth of December at midnight, life dull and colorless, empty and cold, like ice. He was Lee Seungri, the winter tempus of earth.
a/n: last minute contest entry, sad :[ okay! so, yes, end of the world au, haha, i listened to Breath Me by Sia constantly while writing this, so listen to it while you read, itll definitely stir up more emotion if you read with the music in the background :] Enjoy!
oh, and while reading, see how many references to the heat/cold contrasts you can find ;D
Everyday, he waits at the light rail station at eight fifteen to eight twenty five, fifteen minutes of cold weather bringing needle sensations to his skin and watching his breath cast out in white clouds of shapeless air. Everyday since September twenty-second, the day he started working at the ice cream shop, the one just down Hiems street, he waited for the bus to arrive to take him back to the empty apartment he lived in. With nothing to anticipate when a new day arrived, he had nothing to go home to either.
His life was dull and colorless, empty and cold, like ice, and he was shivering cold.
There were four seasons that existed: winter, spring, summer, and autumn. He was winter, born on the twentieth of December at midnight, skin as pale as snow and as cold as ice. He had a mother that passed away from his birth, a father, the previous tempus before himself that sacrificed his life and passed it down to him. He had no siblings, no friends, only nineteen years of isolation.
He was Lee Seungri, the winter tempus of earth.
They were called tempuses, only four that resided in the world and existed as the seasons, but only to control them.
Destiny would decide their fate.
They were as normal as any other human, just a few conditions, really, that made them different. If anything, they were gifted and special, rare. When one should die without passing his life onto another, so should the season to which he belonged, thus ceasing to exist evermore.
These tempuses were important and crucial to the world, yet no one knew of their existence.
The ice cream shop was busy year-round; people of all ages stopping by to have a treat to indulge themselves with before they went to work, a sugary snack to remind them of life and carried them away from stress. It was always cold there, so it lowered his chances of getting sick when the other seasons came.
He was behind the counter now, watching the customers munch on cones as they shivered in layers of clothing and large scarves with matching gloves, thinking to himself how absurd the human population was. In one corner, a couple in their twenties sat, arguing silently while eating a banana split. He heard a woman on the other side yelling at someone for spilling his ice cream, saw the person he'd just served sit aggravated at one of the tables, eyebrows furrowed with frustration, cell phone in one hand, cone in the other, and then he heard honking out on the streets.
Seungri sighed quietly to himself, barely audible even to himself, barely there, and he wondered why humans were so cold, heart and blood all with a metaphorical temperature of thirty two degrees Fahrenheit -freezing. There was nothing great about being cold, and Seungri knew it inside-out.
He gazed outside at the dark, grey sky and the dying trees, the ending planet that they lived on, leaves shriveling up from the season, because of him, and falling lifelessly to the ground in orange, red, and yellow flashing patterns. It was an aberration from only a few months ago, and Seungri wondered why life moved so quickly, its cold currents rushing, sailing everyone on the ride quickly to the end.
In a world of cold hearted people, he only wished to find warmth.
The seats of the subway sent shivers up his spine, made the fronts of his thighs tremble until the feeling traveled to his arms, freezing each limb before moving onto the other, slow and deliberate. It was like sitting on metal that had been deserted for the winter, too cold for anyone to sit on but him.
His apartment was small and gaudy, so worn and disheveled it could catch anyone’s attention, but it was the only thing he could afford. The lights of the kitchen were white and fluorescent, eerie and unwelcoming. The aged couch in the living room served as his bed, and the television that sat on the floor in front of it only provided five channels for entertainment.
Seungri kicked off his shoes and collapsed on the cushions of his couch, the springs screeching emphatically throughout the quiet complex as his body relaxed painfully against them. The heater didn’t work, and he didn’t have the money to get it fixed, so he fell asleep watching the white of his breath ghost across the room into the dark then vanish altogether.
The stars in the sky were vanishing, one by one, irreversible and defiant against mankind’s wishes, and Seungri watched as the one hundred and seventy third star slowly flickered into darkness, its twinkle burning out and fading into the night. One hundred and seventy two stars were left sparkling in the sky, the ones around it awaiting their fate, and Seungri thought he saw them flicker from fright. He remembered watching one hundred eighty-two twinkle vibrantly on his birthday, and he had smiled at their company, cried from desolation, tears icy and cold as they slid down his cheeks.
He sat and waited, thoughts rummaging through his head like traffic, crowded and clustered, and he shut his eyes, tried to push away the ones that scared him most.
When all the stars die out...
next will be the sun.
Jiyong came into his life in bundles of clothing, scarf wrapped thickly around his neck up to his nose, beanie covering his ears, an oversized jacket with the hood up, and with bare hands, so white and slender Seungri remembered wondering why they weren’t covered from the harsh coldness.
He said, “Here, take these.” Jiyong handed him a pair of red mittens, woven from soft yarn that caressed against his skin. He hesitated before pulling them on, the sensation of warmth striking him like lightning, and he furrowed his eyebrows from surprise, wondered how it brought the feeling to his body.
He said, “Thanks.”
“No problem. I’m Jiyong.” The boy smiled and took a seat next to Seungri, the law of personal space nonexistent in his mind. Seungri could feel the body heat radiating off Jiyong’s body, shockingly warm, and the smell of coffee and cigarettes overwhelmed his senses. “You look freezing as hell.”
Seungri wondered how hell could be freezing, thought about their dying earth that was freezing over slowly, but he shrugged it off, glanced to the sky just in time to see star one hundred sixty flicker its life away. He rubbed his hands on his thighs for the umpteenth time that night, just a habit to pretend, as if it would actually make him warmer. “I’m Seungri.”
“You work at the ice cream shop. I saw you leaving your shift the other day when I came in.”
Seungri nodded, more occupied with the unfamiliar sensation of warmth he was feeling and barely comprehending Jiyong’s attempt at small talk.
“I work at that coffee shop, Aestas? Just one block down at the corner of Vernus street? Yeah.” He shrugged and heard the sound of the light rail arriving, said, “You’ve probably never seen me.”
Seungri watched as Jiyong stood, the source of warmth leaving his side, his body feeling tired and lonely and cold without the feeling, and it sucked the air from his lungs, leaving him breathless and lost.
“Keep those. It looks like you need them.” And with that, Jiyong boarded the light rail.
A droplet of water fell on his cheek, and he looked up at the melting icicle above his head. The light rail took off and he missed his ride home.
Jiyong was at the station everyday since their first meeting, and each time he would be huddled in layers of clothing, colorful yet well-coordinated, a reflection of his personality, and it made Seungri feel naked. He kept the mittens, wore them almost constantly, they became his second skin, but he hid his hands in his pockets whenever he saw Jiyong. He felt shy and awkward wearing someone else’s mittens around them.
“I knew you’d be here again.” Jiyong grinned jokingly and handed him a cup of coffee. “I got this for you just in case you were cold.”
Seungri wanted to nod, say I will always be cold, but he wasn't going to tell Jiyong he was winter, not anytime soon at least, so he only smiled politely and pulled his hand out of his pocket to grasp the warmth of the paper cup.
Jiyong sat down beside him like he’d done every other day, and Seungri let out an inaudible, shaky breath of comfort, gripped the coffee in between both of his hands, and he shivered, from all the warmth he was feeling rather than the painful tremors he felt in his chest that caused the cold winter breezes in the night air.
“Thanks, Jiyong.” He mumbled it with sincerity but kept his eyes on the black liquid in his cup.
Jiyong nodded, said, “No problem.” And he smiled at him, reminding Seungri of sunlight and coffee and red mittens. For a moment, Seungri actually believed there were no problems, that things weren’t about to end and that the stars weren’t disappearing from the sky.
Icicles melted from the ledges of the station, shook and shattered on the ground as the light rail arrived, and this time Seungri made sure to catch it.
He wasn't expecting it when Jiyong told him he was one of the four tempuses, summer.
It caught him off guard and hit him straight on, right in the head like a ton of bricks, had him holding his breath for just a few seconds to really believe it. It was the first time in years Seungri didn't feel alone.
Jiyong spent the night that day, by request, and Seungri had the heart to say yeah, sure, you can sleep over. He was embarrassed, though, ashamed to let Jiyong see his place, but he pleaded, said he didn't live in such a luxurious place either.
Seungri was laying out blankets on the floor, and Jiyong was on the couch, sitting reposed and introspected, chewing on his bottom lip, Seungri forced his gaze away, and his expression was so concentrated as if contemplating something important.
He grabbed the pillows beside him, then Jiyong, out of his thoughts, he said, "I'm the summer tempus."
The pillows fell from his hands, forgotten and lost, and Seungri swallowed cold air that made his throat dry.
Sometime during the night, sometime at 2:12 in the morning, Seungri couldn't sleep, was only falling in and out of it, and he was shaking from lying on the floor. The thin blanket served no purpose as he tried curling it around his body, but he felt no warmth. The temperature outside must have been below thirty two degrees Fahrenheit, his body so cold it caused snow to fall from the sky.
2:12 am. He felt Jiyong slide down from the couch and lie beside him. Almost instantly, Seungri felt warm, his skin thawing out and his heart speeding up to normal, maybe even faster than usual. He turned on his side, cautious and insecure, and faced the other. Jiyong was closer than he expected, but only so close, he could twitch and his chest would bump into his shoulder.
He didn't watch as star one hundred fifty one died away, and he didn't notice the twinkle in the corner of Jiyong's eye from beside him, the pain he felt as the star fell from the heavens.
2:15. The storm settled down until the last flake of snow was left to fall.
Seungri woke to the voice of the news reporter on the tv. The volume was dull, just a low humming like a lullaby in the background, resonating throughout the small apartment, and just loud enough to wake him. He lay still for a few seconds, hearing things like a blizzard is headed our way, a long winter ahead, we suggest you start stalking up on supplies, and Seungri didn't want to hear any of it. He shut his eyes tight, tried shutting out the voice of the anchor lady, tried shutting out the fate that was awaiting them all, but it didn't work. He didn't have the power to force reality out, knew that even if he sacrificed himself, it wouldn't stop the end from coming.
He was slowly losing control on himself, on his season, and it was time a higher power handled things. The world was going to end, and he couldn’t do anything to stop it.
Earth was dying, and it would drag everyone and everything with it. That included the seasons.
He opened his eyes, vision fuzzy, blurry and unfocused like his sleep induced mind. Jiyong sat with legs crossed beside him, blanket wrapped around his frail body, and Seungri saw the fear in his eyes, the way it sparkled with tears, the slight tremble in his lips, his tight grip on the blanket. It was the first time Seungri had seen Jiyong so vulnerable, so exposed and weak. Seungri had caught him, at a time least expected, and Jiyong still thought he was sleeping, no eyes to see his true self.
Seungri sat up and positioned himself beside Jiyong, saw him try to compose himself, straighten up and blink away lingering tears that threatened to escape. He leaned forward and turned the television off, the voice fading into nothing, the apartment trapped in silence except for their staggered breaths.
He didn't know how to comfort people, and it was times like these that made him feel out of place, wished he grew up with someone, anyone, to give him that affection every human got.
His movements were awkward as he gently patted Jiyong's bent knee. He said, "We live life in the moment, Jiyong. The end is for the future almost as if it's a thing of the past. If you're too far ahead, you'll get lost. Just...stay in the moment, okay?"
He noticed Jiyong’s tears were warm as they twinkled down his cheek and dampened the skin of his shoulder.
Seungri heard the chime of the small bell above the door and watched as Jiyong entered, vivid as always with a small smile slowly creeping into view. He was about to ask why Jiyong was there, the question just at the tip of his tongue and ready to be heard, but Jiyong cut him off while pondering his ice cream flavor.
He said, “Today’s my day off.”
Seungri nodded, scooped Jiyong an extra scoop of the rainbow flavored ice cream, of course, and pretended he didn’t notice.
They talked when he wasn’t serving customers, and he felt tingles throughout his skin, felt them travel to the tips of his fingers, twitch at the corner of his mouth, and flutter in his stomach. He rubbed his moist hands on his thigh, his sleeves rolled up and not because of the temperature in the shop. He wasn’t nervous, but Jiyong’s presence brought warmth to his body.
Even from far, Jiyong radiated warmth.
Jiyong stayed until his shift ended, and they walked to the station, the cold night raising bumps on Seungri’s arm, making him feel numb. His skin felt stiff and rough, like ice, and he felt fragile, like he could break any second.
They sat down on the bench as always. Each time Jiyong would sit centimeters closer, and now his leg pressed against Seungri’s, molded together like soft snow, and he rubbed his bare hands, tried clenching away the lost feeling in his fingers, as if all that feeling traveled straight to his beating heart.
He confessed, “I lost the gloves you gave me.”
And Jiyong only laughed, said, “It’s alright. You won’t need them anyway.”
Jiyong grasped his hand in his, firm and tight, hands so warm Seungri felt his body relax and his blood flow evenly. He watched as Jiyong entwined their fingers together, watched as the skin went white from the grip, his hand like melting ice against that source of heat.
Seungri didn’t let go as the subway arrived, he didn’t let go when they found seats, and he didn’t pull away when he fell asleep on Jiyong’s chest that night to the racing of his heart and the warmth of his skin.
Outside, star one hundred forty four faded into black.
“People are so heartless these days, cold hearted. They don’t even consider the people and things around them.”
Seungri was frustrated. He was tired of all the customers he’d served that morning that gave him attitude, the people he served on any day that treated him as if he were lower just because he scooped their ice cream. He was observant, and he knew humans and their inconsiderate ways towards others when they were in bad moods.
Jiyong patted his hand, traced the patterns on the open palm, crossed the x’s and spotted the stars. The feeling soothed Seungri’s flustered mind, and he tilted his head back, let the falling snow gracefully land on his skin, leaving droplets of water like makeshift tears on his cheeks. They weren’t tears, and Jiyong knew it, but he wiped them anyway.
“We’re like snow; only interacting because we have nowhere else to go, there’s just too many of us. We’re heartless and cold, like ice, starting out innocent, and eventually, something comes along and ruins it.”
He sighed loudly, and Jiyong sat in silence, taking in Seungri’s profound perspective of the world and its inhabitants. He bit at his lip and rested his head on the boy’s bony shoulder, waited to see if he had anything else to say before he could begin.
“Maybe we’re all just shivering cold, and we need that warmth to melt away our troubles and flaws.”
And Seungri wondered if warmth and love had any differences. Jiyong’s voice was soft, and his breath cascaded in swirls and elegant movements across his collar bone.
“Maybe we just all need the sun and the stars to bring light into our cold lives.”
Jiyong traced shapes into Seungri’s arm affectionately, drew lines and patterns and hearts into warm skin.
“Maybe all we need is love.”
He smiled against the skin of Seungri’s neck, pressed his lips lightly against the warmth, like the wings of a butterfly, and Seungri’s heart bloomed for a few moments before he turned to look at Jiyong, his eyes sparkling with fear.
“What happens when the sun goes down?”
“…I’ll still be there with you.”
And Jiyong pulled Seungri into a tender embrace, body warm and inviting. He exhaled white and inhaled warmth and the smell of Jiyong’s cologne.
“I’m glad you found me, Jiyong, because I’ve been shivering cold.”
As the days progressed, fewer people went to buy ice cream, everyone too busy stocking up on cans of food and supplies. Jiyong stopped by more often, his visits lasted longer, and Seungri assumed Aestas wasn’t getting any more customers either. He didn’t mind.
Jiyong never went home after work, and it was rare when he didn’t spend the night at Seungri’s apartment, but he never asked why.
Seungri didn’t want to say, but Jiyong’s company was something he cherished, his warmth was something he needed. But when Jiyong stopped by the ice cream shop one day, a large duffle bag slung across his shoulder, a black eye and a bruised lip marring the fragility of his face, he had to ask what happened. Jiyong only sighed and shrugged, acted as if everything was okay when they weren’t, things were ending, but he didn’t argue.
Jiyong mumbled, “My uncle’s an asshole when he’s drunk.”
He didn’t say no when Jiyong asked to move in.
As the weather outside became colder, snow falling harder, the winds getting stronger, Seungri felt colder than ever. They stopped going to work, a message on their cells one morning announcing the end of the ice cream shop on Hiems street and the coffee shop on Vernus. People all around the world had gotten a similar message, and everyone stopped going to work altogether. No one was allowed outside of their homes after the sun stopped coming out of the grey skies.
They spent most of the day under the blankets, wrapped up in each other’s bodies, Seungri in Jiyong’s warmth, and only coming out when light faded into dark. They watched the stars fade away, one by one, day by day, until only a few lay splattered in the night, a hundred or so struggling to keep their light.
He remembered Jiyong as the glow fell through the window, caressed his face with a white luminescence, as if saying this boy is special, value those close with the time you have left. He remembered Jiyong leaning forward, remembered his awkward movements, the feel of soft, warm lips against his own, slow and desperate. It was a strange feeling, full of so much emotion, summer and winter, heat and cold, and Seungri’s heart threatened to burst, spill affection and warmth.
It was then that Seungri realized. He loved Jiyong.
Every so often, Seungri would gather enough energy to stop the blizzards outside. He cried icy tears as they watched people from all around leave their homes after days, weeks, months of confinement, faces aged and pale, looking around and exploring, as if life had only just begun.
Jiyong grabbed his hand, and his eyes spilled warmth.
In the summer, Seungri suffered from colds. In the winter, Jiyong suffered from fevers. It was only natural for tempuses to get ill during the other seasons.
Jiyong was sick with a fever, and his body burned with a temperature of one hundred and six degrees Fahrenheit. He was weak and barely even had the strength to walk around. Each passing day his condition would only get worse, and Seungri piled layers and layers of blankets over his heated body, brought him medicine and water at three in the morning if he needed it.
They found themselves spending every moment of the day under the thick layer of blankets, and Seungri knew Jiyong needed him most at a time like this. Seungri had always depended on Jiyong to be there for him, to provide warmth, love, and now, it was time Jiyong needed him.
He was going to be there for Jiyong, even after the sun went down.
Jiyong’s dark circles had become even more prominent than his own, and his cheek bones were getting sharper. His collar bones and shoulder blades protruded through the pale, heated skin, and Seungri could feel his heart as it struggled to beat in his chest. He had become so fragile, and Seungri only allowed himself to cry as he watched Jiyong sleep, in the dark of the night, face buried just below his chin, tears dampening his hair, like snow falling from the sky.
Now, Jiyong rested his head in Seungri’s lap, and they watched as the thirty sixth star flickered off. He felt Jiyong’s shaky breath tickle his knees and he said, “Seungri, lay with me.” Seungri complied, and Jiyong held him against his body, warm and moist with cold sweat.
Seungri didn’t want to think about it, but he knew, they both knew.
Earth was dying, and so were they.
“I’d be spending the end of my life in this apartment alone if I hadn’t met you.”
He could feel Jiyong’s smile at the top of his head, felt the kiss pressed delicately against his temple.
“Actually, I would have spent my entire life alone if it weren’t for you.”
Jiyong played with the sleeve of his shirt, trailed his fingers along the soft skin of his arm, traced letters and formed words that made Seungri smile.
Jiyong said, “I’m just pissed I didn’t meet you sooner.”
And Seungri closed his eyes, “Being here at the end…I just feel like everything so far has been a dream.”
Jiyong was quiet for a few moments, deep in his thoughts, and he pushed Seungri over, maneuvered his body so that he lay on top of Seungri, chest to chest, hearts racing to beat together in time.
Jiyong, he said, “When the end comes, we’ll wake from this dream…” he exhaled slowly, daydreamed about the sun and the blue skies and the trees, “Then, the adventure of life truly begins.” Seungri smiled, if only that was true, and Jiyong only nodded at him through half lidded eyes, it is, only if we believe it is.
Five stars decorated the sky that night, only five stars left; the sixth had fallen hours ago. Everything outside of the window was black except the twinkles of the stars, and Seungri remembered how he used to stare out at the city lights, the honking cars, the flashing of the airplanes in the sky.
Jiyong kissed him on the mouth, tender and soothing, and his tongue was smooth and soft against his own.
He was weak, but he hadn’t felt so alive in years when Seungri pushed in. Seungri leaned forward and kissed Jiyong on the left side of his head, just before his ear, and whispered I love you as he came.
Under the covers, they lived in their own world, one where summer and winter only existed, where no one had to be alone.
Seungri woke to Jiyong’s voice in his ear, a soft whisper, let’s go outside.
It had been months since the last time they left the apartment, and Seungri supported Jiyong as they left the empty complex. The trees were gone, the lights burnt out, and the streets were empty and deserted, once full of people and cars. It was almost pitch black, and Seungri guessed the temperature was somewhere far below zero.
They walked to the station, the one he used to wait at, and Jiyong sat at the bench where they first met. He noticed that Jiyong was still as colorful and bundled in clothing from the day they’d met, and Seungri wanted to burst into tears. He sat down and Jiyong wrapped an arm around his waist, rested his head on Seungri’s shoulder.
Jiyong said, “I guess this is it.”
And they starred up at the night sky, one star lingering in its last moments. Seungri reached down and pressed his lips to Jiyong’s forehead.
He said, “Yeah.”
Jiyong leaned forward, and they kissed, the warmth draining from his body, cold against cold now, and he was shivering. They didn’t pull away, lips trembling as tears poured from their eyes, wet and cold, and Jiyong said, “This isn’t the end, remember?” And he smiled against Seungri’s mouth with tear stained cheeks. Seungri smiled back, only cried harder and kissed Jiyong’s moist eyelids. He pulled Jiyong’s body down with him, and they lay on the bench, breaths coming out in white puffs and bodies trembling from cold.
The single star above was fading slowly, Seungri, I love you okay?, and I love you too, Jiyong, then Jiyong closed his eyes and Seungri stopped feeling the soft breathing against his face, felt the grip on his hand loosen and go limp. He shut his eyes, and the last star slowly died away. Earth fell into complete darkness, and his heart stopped beating.
Before his life ended, he wished upon a star to wake him from his dream.
The day was June twentieth, 12:00 am, the first day of summer.
References:
Tempus - latin word for time
Hiems - latin word for winter
Aestas - latin word for summer
Vernus - latin word for spring
32 degrees F - temperature at which water freezes
Dec. 21 - first day of winter
Sept. 22 - first day of autumn
June 21 - first day of summer
2:12 - as in 212 degrees F, temperature at which water boils
182 - countdown from 182 stars, as in 182 days of the first day of winter until the first day of summer
i thinks thats all? :] comments are greatly appreciated!