[FIC] by the world forgot
TITLE by the world forgot
FANDOM block b
PAIRING b-bomb/u-kwon
SUMMARY there are some people minhyuk would like to forget; yukwon is not one of them
WORDS 5514
RATING pg-13
Work begins on Monday. Minhyuk hates Mondays.
Minhyuk's suit is vintage-possibly the suit he bought years ago for a friend's wedding; one that never happened because the groom didn't show-and the pant legs are dirty from stepping through muddy puddles just to get to the train station. It has been raining since Friday night (a torrential downpour signalling the beginning of the monsoon season), and Minhyuk left his umbrella by his door.
Minhyuk steps onto the train, feels the lurch even through the soles of his shoes, and taps against the metal safeguard he leans against. There, though, between the dirt and grime of window stains, Minhyuk can make out the figure of someone-a man no older than him-setting up a small trash bin and sitting there to perform on his guitar to an audience of no one.
When he looks up, their eyes meet. This vague, peculiar shiver races through him; all nerves set off sharp waves. He should remember this, his brain seems to say-the migraine from last week pounds behind his eyes. He makes to leave, but his feet remain rooted to the train car.
The doors slide shut before he can make out any more of the stranger's face.
Jaehyo slips a card into his palm on a cold morning, right after leaving the New Year's Eve party at Hanhae's apartment.
Jaehyo is drunk (singing three octaves too high to a pop song made famous by women), but he still has the coordination to give Minhyuk the small business card with a crease in the center. When he casts a glance upward, Jaehyo says, "I found it in my coat pocket one morning," and Minhyuk thumbs the bent corners.
Brand New, Inc. the card reads in cursive, black text, and Minhyuk's not familiar with the name. "What is this?"
"Not sure," Jaehyo answers with a shrug and a chatter of his teeth. He pulls his jacket's unzipped sides closer to his chest, shivers in an exaggerated manner, and peers over the top of the card to read it himself.
He folds the card and pockets it. "Should I call?"
Jaehyo blows out-fascinated with the little clouds of white his breath forms-and says, "I don't know, maybe." Jaehyo sends him this glance, a peculiar grin on his face almost odd in the way it tilts. "Do you normally take advice from drunk friends?"
Minhyuk laughs, short, and wraps his arm around Jaehyo's neck (a little awkward due to height difference, but Jaehyo accomodates accordingly). Jaehyo is nothing more than a sack of bones dressed in designer clothes-gargling alcohol-laden speech into Minhyuk's hairline-and Minhyuk hoists him up further so they can make the shaky trek back to Jaehyo's apartment.
"It'd be easier to take the bus," Jaehyo supplies in the midst of his ramblings. Minhyuk barely hears this in between Jaehyo's grocery shopping to-do list and something in lieu of work. "I feel like I've been fucking run over and left for dead."
Minhyuk snorts. "Don't drink so much."
"The bus stop is over there," Jaehyo says as his head lolls to the side.
"We're not taking the bus." Minhyuk steadies Jaehyo again-aligning them parallel to the sidewalk's edge with Minhyuk on the outside toward the night traffic. "Too busy right now, and you need to walk some of this off."
Jaehyo laughs (bright and clear even with the heavy pile-up of late night partiers and tires against asphalt). Minhyuk wants to know what happened to the guy Jaehyo had been constantly texting at work a few weeks back; Jaehyo had seemed into him, which Minhyuk found surprising since Jaehyo's taste in men changed with the weather. Jaehyo never mentions him in conversations-not since last Thursday when Jaehyo texted him, saying fuck, I think he's allergic to cats, and-
"My head hurts," Jaehyo mumbles and follows it with a groan. "My feet hurt, too." Minhyuk laughs.
"It's not too far. C'mon."
Minhyuk follows the address written on the business card a week later-not because he wants to, per se, but because his feet feel compelled to lead him there. Yukwon hasn't spoken to him since their last fight, and Minhyuk is tired of hearing the number you have called is no longer in service message when he calls.
("Maybe he's busy," Jaehyo said over coffee and pain relievers. He rubbed his temples, barely looking at Minhyuk even though the blinds were drawn over the windows. "Maybe he needs time away from you.")
Yukwon never came home the night after their fight-the one where there was more stalemate than actual speaking. Minhyuk found it strange at the time, but he brushed it off because Yukwon always came back-sometimes weary, other times smiling helplessly. Minhyuk opened the door those nights, a little wider, and did not ask questions; he pulled him down the foyer, bumped past the television set, knocked Yukwon's guitar case over, and fucked him on the clean sheets Minhyuk refused to sleep in alone.
Yukwon's guitar case is gone-has been gone-for days now, and Yukwon's phone is no longer in use. It's as though Yukwon vanished completely.
This feeling unnerves Minhyuk.
Brand New Inc. isn't a suspicious building by any means-it sits (with its white-washed walls and clean windows) in a quaint area between a hole-in-the-wall diner and a charity drop-off box. Minhyuk bows to an elderly woman walking on the opposite side of the street, and the blue gum stuck in one of the sidewalk cracks is a much more friendly sight than her knowing eyes.
The inside of the building is white-walls, floors, lights, everything-and the acrid smell of sterility permeates. Minhyuk wrinkles his nose upon taking his first step, but the employees in white lab coats come and go without a care. Minhyuk's fingers find the business card in his pocket (curling around it as though it will give him courage to continue on), and his sneakers make a deafening squeak against the clean tiles.
"Are you here for an appointment?"
Minhyuk turns to whoever is speaking to him and finds the tinted shades of an employee staring back at him. The transition glasses shadow his eyes when the light catches the lens.
"No," he answers, voice caught in his throat. "I just-a friend handed me this card." He stops to pull the bent card from his pocket, hands it to the employee, and waits for the other man to speak.
He smiles a friendly, toothy grin, and the nametag on his coat catches Minhyuk's attention-Lee Taeil, it greets. Taeil glances at the card (Minhyuk can see the barest glimpse of his eyes) but then he tilts his chin back up and his eyes disappear in the dark.
"Walk-ins are welcome," he says to Minhyuk, and he turns on his heel to steer them through a hallway. It feels crowded, even though Minhyuk has more than enough armspace and the hall is otherwise empty. "How are you today?"
"Good. I think."
Another man pops his head out from an office, shouts, "Boo!" but derives no response from Taeil.
"Not now, Jihoon," Taeil says. Minhyuk sees Taeil motion at him, and the other man-Jihoon-pouts at having been hushed. "I'm working."
Jihoon bows his head to Minhyuk in apology, and then he perks up when he glances to Taeil again. They speak in quiet voices, pressed close to each other's side, and Taeil laughs at whatever Jihoon tells him. Jihoon's voice is low, gravelly even, and he taps on Taeil's glasses when he's through speaking.
Jihoon walks ahead, enters the room at the end of the hall, and Taeil faces Minhyuk again. "Here we are," he says and pushes open the door for Minhyuk to enter.
Inside the room is Jihoon, sitting on a desk and swinging his legs as though he's the human metronome. There are two other men busying themselves in opposite corners. It looks similar to Minhyuk's dentist's office, white and bright with a chair positioned in the middle. Taeil leaves his side, wanders off to speak to one of the men-his hair is like Yukwon's when they first met (dyed a sunny yellow and in need of a touch-up)-and Minhyuk looks to the decorative books on the shelves when their attention turns back toward him.
The other man-the one with the striking hair color-steps forward and extends his hand. Minhyuk accepts it (years of etiquette classes and business meetings drilled into his head) and judging this man's character by his strong grip is second nature.
"Woo Jiho," the man says, "at your service."
Minhyuk gives the room another quick once-over, asks, "What is this place?"
"This is Brand New, Inc.," Jiho answers. He gestures to the chair in the center of the room. "We trade people's memories for happiness-make them feel better. This place is all about second chances." He smiles at Minhyuk. The corners of his lips drag up in what Minhyuk can only assume is a playful manner, but this only serves to make his eyes seem dangerous. "Why are you here?"
"Jaehyo-my friend-he gave me the card."
The nameless man near the opposite wall turns to face him, but Minhyuk pays little attention to him because Jiho is speaking again. He tells him about the process-"I guess it's best to say the procedure's like a night of heavy drinking."-and the reasons why the company was formed. Minhyuk watches Jiho talk, the gestures he makes with his hands, and his mind slips to Yukwon. Minhyuk doesn't realize Jiho is finished with his dissertation about the company until he clears his throat.
"Is there someone you'd like to forget?" Taeil asks from Jiho's side. "Someone you want to erase from your memory completely."
Minhyuk opens his mouth. The only person who comes to mind is Yukwon, but- "My boyfriend. Ex-boyfriend. Kim Yukwon."
Jihoon startles in his seat on the desk. "Hey, isn't that the guy we did two weeks ago?"
The nameless man in the corner snaps his attention to Jihoon the same time Minhyuk does. The nameless man is angry, and Minhyuk feels his own anger bubble up in the pit of his stomach. "That's confidential information, Jihoon; Jonghwan-hyung is going to kill you," the man without a name is saying, but Minhyuk's thoughts are all of Yukwon.
Minhyuk begins to piece everything together, but all his mind is telling him is: Yukwon fucking erased you.
Minhyuk sits in the office of an older man (one he never caught the name of), and he doesn't look up the entire time the man speaks.
"You're in a rather unenviable situation at the moment," he says. He places his clasped hands on the desk that separates them, and Minhyuk glances up at the sound of the man's watch hitting the polished, wooden surface. "We'd like to extend our services to you."
"What do I need to do?"
This is how Minhyuk begins to remove his life from Yukwon.
Minhyuk rummages through his apartment that night.
("Our files remain confidential," the man said, gazing out the window and looking onto the street. A woman yelled at a few children running through the streets. "But for Yukwon to have gone through this procedure, he must've been unhappy.")
He tosses aside the box of garbage bags, scatters various objects and knick-knacks across his floor, and begins packing away pieces that stand out to him-the ones that remind him of Yukwon the most. Minhyuk pulls books off the shelves, toiletries out of the bathroom, clothing out of the closet, sheet music (the song Yukwon wrote him for his birthday just the month before), pictures taken in photo booths during lazy trips to the mall, selcas Minhyuk tacked to the bulletin board in the main room, cologne, the mixtape-CD Yukwon recorded of himself. He throws everything he finds away, down into the black depths of the garbage bag he places to his side, until there is nothing left.
His apartment is barren when he is through, and two heavy-duty garbage sacks sit in his doorway.
("Remove anything that could possibly be associated with Yukwon. We need to empty your life of him.")
When he steps inside the Brand New Inc. building the next day, it feels like a weight has been lifted from his shoulders. The scent of sterility still curls around his nose and smothers his lungs, but he no longer feels so closed in. He comes with a purpose today, and the older man from the day before greets him beside the main desk.
"Hanhae and Minho will take your bags," he says and motions to the two men at his side. Minhyuk's fingers clutch tighter at his words, but he loosens his grip when one of them-Hanhae, he presumes-casts him a curious and questioning gaze. "Follow me."
He walks the same long hallway, shoes sending echoes into the corners, and Taeil smiles professionally when he passes. They do not stop, though, not until they reach the end of the hall. This is the room Minhyuk stood in only the day before, and it meant little to him then. But now-now it means a second chance.
"This is Park Kyung; he will be in charge of your case tonight."
The nameless man from yesterday (now with a name to attach to his face) furrows his brows. Minhyuk tenses, briefly, but he is soon directed to the chair in the middle of the room. He recognizes Jiho and Jihoon tampering with the machine across from him, and he hears Kyung uncap a pen to his side. The older man-Jungho, as his nameplate indicates-leaves the room, and his shoes click against the tile; Minhyuk's vision is soon filled with vibrant yellow hair.
Jiho smiles like he did the day before. "Don't worry too much; relax," Jiho says when Kyung begins pressing the wet tip of the marker against Minhyuk's left temple. "Kyung did this last week, too."
"Yeah," Jihoon echoes, coming into Minhyuk's line of sight. "Some tall dude-super nervous." Kyung digs the marker into the soft area of his skull here, and Minhyuk covers the flinch by curling his fingers into the examination chair's armrest. "But Kyung was a pro. You have nothing to worry about."
Minhyuk relaxes into the cushioning behind his head, and Jihoon's expression lights up upon this small movement. Kyung tinkers with a few objects on the rolling-tray he has brought forward, but Minhyuk cannot turn his head to see what it is. Jihoon is still talking, whispering what could be more reassurances to Minhyuk, but no one is listening.
"Alright, let's see," Kyung says, professional and distant. "State your name and who it is you're wanting to erase."
"My name is Lee Minhyuk. I am here to erase," he says, certain, then. He pauses, though, hesitant. Kyung looks up from behind his black-framed glasses. Minhyuk swallows soundlessly. "Kim Yukwon."
Jiho situates a cold object onto the areas Minhyuk felt Kyung dot, but he asks no questions. The room begins to erode away-first the lines in the ceiling and then Jihoon's facial features. Jiho's warmth goes next, but his vision is focused resolutely on Kyung whose image does not waver.
"Keep talking," Kyung says. "Talk about your first memories, your last, what you hated about him, what you always thought about him."
Minhyuk opens his mouth, but he cannot hear what he's saying. Even Kyung's face is disintegrating into tiny flesh-colored pixels. Then, he finds himself outside his own body but inside the examination room where Jiho and Jihoon are setting up a monitor by his prone form.
Disoriented, Minhyuk glances to his hands and wiggles his toes in his shoes. He touches the wall beside him and feels it; he is tangible. He watches Kyung make a note in a folder, slide the swivel chair to the nearby desk, and send a very unprofessional gesture to Jiho.
"I don't. Why am I." Minhyuk furrows his brows, but when Jiho encourages him further he understands that they can hear him speak. "What is going on?"
"We're drawing a timeline for you to follow," Kyung says.
Jihoon steps forward to stand beside him, points at Kyung who busies himself with the monitor and papers on the tray, and says, "It's like. Your mind is a really awesome puzzle-like one of those puzzles where you have to find your way from start to finish? It's really cool."
"In other words,” Kyung says, "you'll be going backwards." He offers Minhyuk an encouraging smile as he sorts through the papers in the folder. He further explains, "You'll be tangible as you are now, but you'll be invisible to everyone in your memories."
Minhyuk watches as Jiho rifles through one of his garbage bags, and Kyung makes another note on the papers in his lap. The room is eroding away slower now, just the corners and the world outside the windows, and Jiho pulls out the messy hand-made photo album from the sack.
"He's cute," Jiho says, conversationally, flipping through the pages. "Don't know why you'd let that go-I'd tap it."
Kyung rolls his eyes, manhandles the photo album out of Jiho's hands, and tosses it to Minhyuk. "Study it," Kyung says by way of explanation, and Minhyuk turns to a random page. Yukwon in the photo smiles back at him, and his stomach churns. The machine beside Kyung beeps, loud and mechanical. "Good; you're responding well."
Jihoon digs through the sack next; he hands him pages of crumpled sheet music. Minhyuk bites his bottom lip, takes in the illegible handwriting spelling out his own name (the message Yukwon wrote at the top of the page, happy birthday, dumbass! smile more!, and the lopsided heart that followed afterward), and the machine makes another resounding beep.
They continue like this for some time, and the environment around Minhyuk fades more and more with every item they show him. He hears Kyung, barely a whisper now, say, "The brain signals are healthy... just, try to remember him now."
Everything else vanishes.
Minhyuk stands in his apartment living room, takes in the empty take-out boxes on the floor and the unwashed laundry near the hall, and finds that he is stuck between himself-from-memories and Yukwon.
He recognizes the tension in the other Minhyuk's shoulders, the downward curl of his lips, and the tautness of his fists. Yukwon is turned away from him, head hung low as he adjusts his guitar case, and the silence is thicker than Minhyuk remembers. Static-filled news reports sound off on the television set, and the fridge fills the spaces in between with its distant humming.
This was their last fight, and, subsequently, the last time he saw Yukwon.
Would you fucking listen to me? Minhyuk, or at least the Minhyuk in his memory, says. Just once.
Yukwon stalls in his movements near the doorway, props his guitar case against the frame beside Minhyuk’s dress shoes, and stands from his crouch. The popping of his knees does little to lessen the quiet of their surroundings.
Minhyuk stills from where he watches, an intruder upon his own memories. He flicks his gaze to the other Minhyuk, and it’s strange viewing his own angry face and tense posture from an outside perspective.
This isn't a fucking game, Yukwon, he hears his own voice say, and the words drag deep into his gut. When are you going to wake up and realize that?
Minhyuk moves from his spot looking into the scene, and he takes tiny steps-one, two, three, he counts in his head-until he is standing to the side of Yukwon. He reaches out, touches his shoulder, and feels the warmth of real flesh beneath his fingertips. Startled by this, Minhyuk backs away, holding his hand as if burned by his own memories.
Yukwon's shoulders drop forward, as though he is falling into himself, and Minhyuk never saw the tired lines in his face-not until now with Yukwon staring back at him. He missed out on a few details then-too angry and too determined to prove how right he was; he sees that now, in the line of Yukwon's back and the weary way he turns.
What? Yukwon asks, and his voice is pitched low; it's hoarser than Minhyuk remembers.
You're just fucking around, Minhyuk says, and there's this cutting edge to his voice-the tone he takes when he's at his angriest.
Yukwon refuses to back down, and he stands there as the other Minhyuk lashes out. Minhyuk watches Yukwon's Adam's apple bob, the way the muscles in his arms twitch, and the deep breath he takes in. Looking back, Minhyuk finds that anything he could have said at that moment would have led to the same scenario-Yukwon's defeated stance, Yukwon slamming the door hard enough for even the walls to shake, Yukwon not coming back, Yukwon erasing him.
Minhyuk furrows his brows, no longer paying attention to the scene unfolding, because fuck the feeling of knowing Yukwon erased him only days after makes his jaw tighten and his teeth clench. Yukwon closes off from Minhyuk as the argument progresses, but he sees himself only grow angrier with every comment made. The noise escelates, swallows the sounds of gunshots on the television and drowns out the humming of the fridge, and it is only cut when Yukwon wrenches the door open. He slams it shut.
"You were always good about leaving," Minhyuk says to empty space. "Well, fuck you. I didn't-don't-need you."
The other him shuffles somewhere in the background, punches a dent into the wall-Minhyuk hung a calendar over the morning after, in case Yukwon came home-and stalks into his bedroom. Minhyuk doesn't follow him, he just stands there, willing the door to swing back open.
His hands shake, and he feels like a wind-up doll with springs wound so tight that he just might break. He drank green tea the next morning to relax, turned on the cartoon Yukwon always watched, and waited for his cell to buzz with a text from Yukwon. It never happened, and the more Minhyuk remembers the more he wishes he could forget.
He reaches for the doorknob, and the room peels away.
He lives through another fight, watches the way Yukwon stands up for his dreams this time, hears his own voice cutting Yukwon down. Do you even want anything in life? Stability? A home? The same words Minhyuk can still hear his father yelling at him.
Yukwon is stronger than Minhyuk ever was-he shoves back when someone pushes him. Minhyuk watches them fight over the bills, over Yukwon's (lack of) work-singing at the train station won't get you anywhere-all the way to who should be doing what chores.
Tell me what I should be doing, Yukwon snaps.
Yukwon drops the dish he's washing into soapy water, wipes his hands on the yellow towel hanging on the cabinet's handle, and turns to face Minhyuk. He is taken aback, not because it appears as though Yukwon is looking at him and not through him, but because of the way his expression has tightened. Minhyuk can see the way Yukwon draws into himself, and the pang in his chest tells him it's all his fault.
"You should've stayed," Minhyuk says at the same time his other self says something about finding a job that can pay the bills or at least his damn insurance.
He watches them from the passenger seat of the taxi cab as they spend the night on the town-a rare ocassion, Yukwon's treat, because Minhyuk's been more stressed lately than usual. He thinks he catches Yukwon's gaze, darkened and sultry, a few times from the rearview mirror, but he knows he's most likely seeing what he wants to see instead of what is actually happening. A trick of his own mind, and it's a dirty trick to say the least.
He slides into the booth across from them at the club, finds himself more fascinated with the way Yukwon smiles rather than the colorful stagelights, and watches his own face's reactions to every action Yukwon makes. The unadulterated adoration he sees staring back at him scares him more than it should. It's in the way the other Minhyuk drags his hand down Yukwon's side, absentmindedly, as he talks in a low murmur; in the way the other Minhyuk leans in closer to speak to Yukwon when the bass' volume turns too loud; in the way Minhyuk still knows all of Yukwon's favorite drinks, that Yukwon hates the fruity cocktails Minhyuk prefers, and the way fast-paced music makes them both want to dance.
He sits with himself when Yukwon leaves for the dance-floor, joining a mutual friend near the edge-in perfect view so Minhyuk never has to worry or fear losing him in the crowd.
"You fucked it up," Minhyuk says to himself, but the other Minhyuk is clearly not listening. The only person the other Minhyuk is aware of-and the clawing in his chest comes back with a vengeance-is Yukwon.
Minhyuk blearily walks through the next memories, as if in a trance. Every time he reaches out for Yukwon, the scene shifts and he's caught grasping at the dust particles of his memories.
The next memory Minhyuk doesn't even remember happening. He glances to the desk calendar-smiles, fond, at the silly reminders scribbled on random dates. It's Thursday, a holiday from work, and he's spending it indoors on what seems to be a sunny day.
He walks into the kitchenette and finds the other Minhyuk busily preparing lunch-samgyupsal, something they could share and feed to each other. Minhyuk hears his own voice humming to the guitar sounds from the living room. Minhyuk stuffs his hands into his pockets and wanders into the living room.
Yukwon stretches out on the couch meant to seat only two comfortably, and his skin is bare of any shirt (tossed to side because it's too stuffy in the apartment even with the oscillating fan). The tan from the long summer season spent in absolute sunshine has faded with the autumnal days; the bronze-tone of his forearms gradually pales into the pinkened flesh of his chest. Minhyuk sits beside Yukwon on the couch, near his feet, in his trance-like state. Yukwon's eyes are shut, expression softened by the daylight bleeding in through the open window, and his fingers tweak listlessly at the guitar strings.
Minhyuk curls his fingers around one of Yukwon's ankles, squeezes lightly, and leans into the warmth he can feel radiating from his body. He hears the other Minhyuk call into the room-joking about something a friend from work said-and Minhyuk shivers when Yukwon's laughter fans against his cheek. Minhyuk notices only now that he has moved into Yukwon's personal space.
"Yukwon," he says, slowly.
Minhyuk hesitates, but Yukwon's skin is beneath his fingers for the first time in what feels like years. He doesn't want to let this moment pass by. Minhyuk angles his head lower, and he presses closer until their foreheads comfortably touch and their lips align. Yukwon is saying words that Minhyuk cannot hear, too absorbed in his own thoughts, and the grin on his face-the way it overtakes everything else until Minhyuk can see no flaws, distracts him.
He closes his eyes momentarily, but when he cracks them open again the image of Yukwon is beginning to undo itself. He panics in this moment because Yukwon still looks so fucking happy and the other Minhyuk is laughing and nothing is wrong. He wants to beg Kyung to stop now.
Minhyuk says, "I love you."
"Don't erase anything else," Minhyuk shouts into the blackness surrounding him as his mind tries to build another memory from the ground up.
He hears Jiho snort-it echoes in the silence-and say, "You asked for this, you know. You wanted it."
"I don't." Minhyuk turns, sees himself standing in the midst of a busy train station, and he glances toward the sky, shouts, "I don't want this anymore."
"You can't take it back now," Jihoon says, and his voice sounds somehow saddened by his own words.
Minhyuk grabs the hair near his temple loosely in his fists, then he unfurls his fingers to shape the rest of his hair into disarray. He wanders aimlessly, aware that this is the first time he cannot find the other Minhyuk, and bumps shoulders with a nameless man in a suit.
"Sorry," Minhyuk mumbles as he peers into the crowd of people.
The man huffs and brushes his jacket. "Watch where you're going next time."
Minhyuk stiffens. The traffic of people regard him the same-uncaring and distant-but if that man had heard him then-
He hears Kyung, somewhere, say, "Here's your second chance."
Minhyuk pushes past the people, disregarding the shouts and curses following in his wake, and he takes the steps up the platform two at a time in his haste. Minhyuk's suit is vintage-possibly the suit he bought years ago for a friend's wedding; one that never happened because the groom didn't show-and his pants legs' gather the grime of the train station with every puddle his feet land in. The weather has yet to slacken, and it's soon to be the beginning of the monsoon season.
When he reaches the top of the platform Minhyuk can make out the figure of someone-a man no older than him-setting up a small trash bin and sitting there to perform on his guitar to an audience of no one. His breath catches, but his heart does not slow. He takes large, determined steps forward, because this time he is sure, and doesn't stop until they're standing an arm's length away.
"Hi," Yukwon says, smiling. His hair is yellow, the roots need a serious touch-up, but, fuck, if the smile isn't exactly how Minhyuk remembers it to be.
Minhyuk throws dignity and pride into a corner of his mind, keeps them there, as he pulls Yukwon into him. He feels Yukwon struggle, briefly, and the curious stares of onlookers nearby. He lets out a shaky breath, and he bites his bottom lip when the edges of the scene begin to burn away-this is it, no turning back.
"I finally have you again," Minhyuk says. He buries his nose into Yukwon's neck, sniffs the open collar of his jacket, and this is actually Yukwon in his arms. "Don't. Don't leave next time, dumbass. I want a second chance."
Yukwon squirms, but does not leave his hold. He simply pulls away to stare hard at Minhyuk's face. "What if it doesn't work out?"
"I don't care," Minhyuk says, realizes it's the truth and it's not that scary to admit. "I would do it all over again. I just. Fuck, Yukwon, I love you."
Yukwon's smile is the last thing he sees when everything begins to turn to grayscale. Then, everything is black.
Tuesdays are no better than Mondays, but Minhyuk steps into the station with a new found purpose.
The crowd bustles around him, a few elementary school students skirt around him as they bumble about, and the world is still doused in gray.
Jaehyo texts him in steady succession: my bf wants me to meet his friend; fuck, i think he's allergic to cats; minhyuk. help a friend out???^^; minhyuk, i'm abusing the spare key priviledges today. Minhyuk rolls his eyes and pockets his cell-there's no need to respond anyway; the cat is most likely curled in the middle of his bed by now.
He reaches the platform with little time to spare-the clock hanging on the above post ticks time by far too quickly-and the train's doors will soon close. Minhyuk walks closer, bows his head to a man he brushes shoulders with (ignores his words of watch where you're going next time), and allows a cute teenager to slip onto the train car before him.
But-
The man from Monday settles his guitar in his lap, runs his hands over the neck, and reaches up to fiddle with the tuning knobs. A woman asks him if he's boarding, and he distractedly shakes his head. He pulls away then, makes room for the elderly couple to pass, and takes thirteen measured strides to reach the guitarist.
"Hi," the guitarist says, smiling. His hair is yellow, the roots need a serious touch-up, and his smile is gorgeous. His fingers strum a few notes, tips intimately familiar with the instrument. "Can I help you?"
"Yeah," Minhyuk says, nodding. "Yeah." He sticks out his hand, finds his own lips twitch upward in response to this man's brilliant beam, and says, "I'm Lee Minhyuk."
"Kim Yukwon."
Minhyuk is certain that Yukwon's smile-bright and unwavering-will be the last thing he ever remembers in this life.
for e. there will never be a device that could wipe you from my memory. also, to the other half of the banana pairing: this would have never been completed without you. happy holidays to all those who observe.
title taken from Alexander Pope's Eloisa to Abelard, and partly inspired by the movie which the quote appears in (Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind).
[ETA] there will be author commentary for this fic because there is a lot I have yet to say for it.
FANDOM block b
PAIRING b-bomb/u-kwon
SUMMARY there are some people minhyuk would like to forget; yukwon is not one of them
WORDS 5514
RATING pg-13
Work begins on Monday. Minhyuk hates Mondays.
Minhyuk's suit is vintage-possibly the suit he bought years ago for a friend's wedding; one that never happened because the groom didn't show-and the pant legs are dirty from stepping through muddy puddles just to get to the train station. It has been raining since Friday night (a torrential downpour signalling the beginning of the monsoon season), and Minhyuk left his umbrella by his door.
Minhyuk steps onto the train, feels the lurch even through the soles of his shoes, and taps against the metal safeguard he leans against. There, though, between the dirt and grime of window stains, Minhyuk can make out the figure of someone-a man no older than him-setting up a small trash bin and sitting there to perform on his guitar to an audience of no one.
When he looks up, their eyes meet. This vague, peculiar shiver races through him; all nerves set off sharp waves. He should remember this, his brain seems to say-the migraine from last week pounds behind his eyes. He makes to leave, but his feet remain rooted to the train car.
The doors slide shut before he can make out any more of the stranger's face.
Jaehyo slips a card into his palm on a cold morning, right after leaving the New Year's Eve party at Hanhae's apartment.
Jaehyo is drunk (singing three octaves too high to a pop song made famous by women), but he still has the coordination to give Minhyuk the small business card with a crease in the center. When he casts a glance upward, Jaehyo says, "I found it in my coat pocket one morning," and Minhyuk thumbs the bent corners.
Brand New, Inc. the card reads in cursive, black text, and Minhyuk's not familiar with the name. "What is this?"
"Not sure," Jaehyo answers with a shrug and a chatter of his teeth. He pulls his jacket's unzipped sides closer to his chest, shivers in an exaggerated manner, and peers over the top of the card to read it himself.
He folds the card and pockets it. "Should I call?"
Jaehyo blows out-fascinated with the little clouds of white his breath forms-and says, "I don't know, maybe." Jaehyo sends him this glance, a peculiar grin on his face almost odd in the way it tilts. "Do you normally take advice from drunk friends?"
Minhyuk laughs, short, and wraps his arm around Jaehyo's neck (a little awkward due to height difference, but Jaehyo accomodates accordingly). Jaehyo is nothing more than a sack of bones dressed in designer clothes-gargling alcohol-laden speech into Minhyuk's hairline-and Minhyuk hoists him up further so they can make the shaky trek back to Jaehyo's apartment.
"It'd be easier to take the bus," Jaehyo supplies in the midst of his ramblings. Minhyuk barely hears this in between Jaehyo's grocery shopping to-do list and something in lieu of work. "I feel like I've been fucking run over and left for dead."
Minhyuk snorts. "Don't drink so much."
"The bus stop is over there," Jaehyo says as his head lolls to the side.
"We're not taking the bus." Minhyuk steadies Jaehyo again-aligning them parallel to the sidewalk's edge with Minhyuk on the outside toward the night traffic. "Too busy right now, and you need to walk some of this off."
Jaehyo laughs (bright and clear even with the heavy pile-up of late night partiers and tires against asphalt). Minhyuk wants to know what happened to the guy Jaehyo had been constantly texting at work a few weeks back; Jaehyo had seemed into him, which Minhyuk found surprising since Jaehyo's taste in men changed with the weather. Jaehyo never mentions him in conversations-not since last Thursday when Jaehyo texted him, saying fuck, I think he's allergic to cats, and-
"My head hurts," Jaehyo mumbles and follows it with a groan. "My feet hurt, too." Minhyuk laughs.
"It's not too far. C'mon."
Minhyuk follows the address written on the business card a week later-not because he wants to, per se, but because his feet feel compelled to lead him there. Yukwon hasn't spoken to him since their last fight, and Minhyuk is tired of hearing the number you have called is no longer in service message when he calls.
("Maybe he's busy," Jaehyo said over coffee and pain relievers. He rubbed his temples, barely looking at Minhyuk even though the blinds were drawn over the windows. "Maybe he needs time away from you.")
Yukwon never came home the night after their fight-the one where there was more stalemate than actual speaking. Minhyuk found it strange at the time, but he brushed it off because Yukwon always came back-sometimes weary, other times smiling helplessly. Minhyuk opened the door those nights, a little wider, and did not ask questions; he pulled him down the foyer, bumped past the television set, knocked Yukwon's guitar case over, and fucked him on the clean sheets Minhyuk refused to sleep in alone.
Yukwon's guitar case is gone-has been gone-for days now, and Yukwon's phone is no longer in use. It's as though Yukwon vanished completely.
This feeling unnerves Minhyuk.
Brand New Inc. isn't a suspicious building by any means-it sits (with its white-washed walls and clean windows) in a quaint area between a hole-in-the-wall diner and a charity drop-off box. Minhyuk bows to an elderly woman walking on the opposite side of the street, and the blue gum stuck in one of the sidewalk cracks is a much more friendly sight than her knowing eyes.
The inside of the building is white-walls, floors, lights, everything-and the acrid smell of sterility permeates. Minhyuk wrinkles his nose upon taking his first step, but the employees in white lab coats come and go without a care. Minhyuk's fingers find the business card in his pocket (curling around it as though it will give him courage to continue on), and his sneakers make a deafening squeak against the clean tiles.
"Are you here for an appointment?"
Minhyuk turns to whoever is speaking to him and finds the tinted shades of an employee staring back at him. The transition glasses shadow his eyes when the light catches the lens.
"No," he answers, voice caught in his throat. "I just-a friend handed me this card." He stops to pull the bent card from his pocket, hands it to the employee, and waits for the other man to speak.
He smiles a friendly, toothy grin, and the nametag on his coat catches Minhyuk's attention-Lee Taeil, it greets. Taeil glances at the card (Minhyuk can see the barest glimpse of his eyes) but then he tilts his chin back up and his eyes disappear in the dark.
"Walk-ins are welcome," he says to Minhyuk, and he turns on his heel to steer them through a hallway. It feels crowded, even though Minhyuk has more than enough armspace and the hall is otherwise empty. "How are you today?"
"Good. I think."
Another man pops his head out from an office, shouts, "Boo!" but derives no response from Taeil.
"Not now, Jihoon," Taeil says. Minhyuk sees Taeil motion at him, and the other man-Jihoon-pouts at having been hushed. "I'm working."
Jihoon bows his head to Minhyuk in apology, and then he perks up when he glances to Taeil again. They speak in quiet voices, pressed close to each other's side, and Taeil laughs at whatever Jihoon tells him. Jihoon's voice is low, gravelly even, and he taps on Taeil's glasses when he's through speaking.
Jihoon walks ahead, enters the room at the end of the hall, and Taeil faces Minhyuk again. "Here we are," he says and pushes open the door for Minhyuk to enter.
Inside the room is Jihoon, sitting on a desk and swinging his legs as though he's the human metronome. There are two other men busying themselves in opposite corners. It looks similar to Minhyuk's dentist's office, white and bright with a chair positioned in the middle. Taeil leaves his side, wanders off to speak to one of the men-his hair is like Yukwon's when they first met (dyed a sunny yellow and in need of a touch-up)-and Minhyuk looks to the decorative books on the shelves when their attention turns back toward him.
The other man-the one with the striking hair color-steps forward and extends his hand. Minhyuk accepts it (years of etiquette classes and business meetings drilled into his head) and judging this man's character by his strong grip is second nature.
"Woo Jiho," the man says, "at your service."
Minhyuk gives the room another quick once-over, asks, "What is this place?"
"This is Brand New, Inc.," Jiho answers. He gestures to the chair in the center of the room. "We trade people's memories for happiness-make them feel better. This place is all about second chances." He smiles at Minhyuk. The corners of his lips drag up in what Minhyuk can only assume is a playful manner, but this only serves to make his eyes seem dangerous. "Why are you here?"
"Jaehyo-my friend-he gave me the card."
The nameless man near the opposite wall turns to face him, but Minhyuk pays little attention to him because Jiho is speaking again. He tells him about the process-"I guess it's best to say the procedure's like a night of heavy drinking."-and the reasons why the company was formed. Minhyuk watches Jiho talk, the gestures he makes with his hands, and his mind slips to Yukwon. Minhyuk doesn't realize Jiho is finished with his dissertation about the company until he clears his throat.
"Is there someone you'd like to forget?" Taeil asks from Jiho's side. "Someone you want to erase from your memory completely."
Minhyuk opens his mouth. The only person who comes to mind is Yukwon, but- "My boyfriend. Ex-boyfriend. Kim Yukwon."
Jihoon startles in his seat on the desk. "Hey, isn't that the guy we did two weeks ago?"
The nameless man in the corner snaps his attention to Jihoon the same time Minhyuk does. The nameless man is angry, and Minhyuk feels his own anger bubble up in the pit of his stomach. "That's confidential information, Jihoon; Jonghwan-hyung is going to kill you," the man without a name is saying, but Minhyuk's thoughts are all of Yukwon.
Minhyuk begins to piece everything together, but all his mind is telling him is: Yukwon fucking erased you.
Minhyuk sits in the office of an older man (one he never caught the name of), and he doesn't look up the entire time the man speaks.
"You're in a rather unenviable situation at the moment," he says. He places his clasped hands on the desk that separates them, and Minhyuk glances up at the sound of the man's watch hitting the polished, wooden surface. "We'd like to extend our services to you."
"What do I need to do?"
This is how Minhyuk begins to remove his life from Yukwon.
Minhyuk rummages through his apartment that night.
("Our files remain confidential," the man said, gazing out the window and looking onto the street. A woman yelled at a few children running through the streets. "But for Yukwon to have gone through this procedure, he must've been unhappy.")
He tosses aside the box of garbage bags, scatters various objects and knick-knacks across his floor, and begins packing away pieces that stand out to him-the ones that remind him of Yukwon the most. Minhyuk pulls books off the shelves, toiletries out of the bathroom, clothing out of the closet, sheet music (the song Yukwon wrote him for his birthday just the month before), pictures taken in photo booths during lazy trips to the mall, selcas Minhyuk tacked to the bulletin board in the main room, cologne, the mixtape-CD Yukwon recorded of himself. He throws everything he finds away, down into the black depths of the garbage bag he places to his side, until there is nothing left.
His apartment is barren when he is through, and two heavy-duty garbage sacks sit in his doorway.
("Remove anything that could possibly be associated with Yukwon. We need to empty your life of him.")
When he steps inside the Brand New Inc. building the next day, it feels like a weight has been lifted from his shoulders. The scent of sterility still curls around his nose and smothers his lungs, but he no longer feels so closed in. He comes with a purpose today, and the older man from the day before greets him beside the main desk.
"Hanhae and Minho will take your bags," he says and motions to the two men at his side. Minhyuk's fingers clutch tighter at his words, but he loosens his grip when one of them-Hanhae, he presumes-casts him a curious and questioning gaze. "Follow me."
He walks the same long hallway, shoes sending echoes into the corners, and Taeil smiles professionally when he passes. They do not stop, though, not until they reach the end of the hall. This is the room Minhyuk stood in only the day before, and it meant little to him then. But now-now it means a second chance.
"This is Park Kyung; he will be in charge of your case tonight."
The nameless man from yesterday (now with a name to attach to his face) furrows his brows. Minhyuk tenses, briefly, but he is soon directed to the chair in the middle of the room. He recognizes Jiho and Jihoon tampering with the machine across from him, and he hears Kyung uncap a pen to his side. The older man-Jungho, as his nameplate indicates-leaves the room, and his shoes click against the tile; Minhyuk's vision is soon filled with vibrant yellow hair.
Jiho smiles like he did the day before. "Don't worry too much; relax," Jiho says when Kyung begins pressing the wet tip of the marker against Minhyuk's left temple. "Kyung did this last week, too."
"Yeah," Jihoon echoes, coming into Minhyuk's line of sight. "Some tall dude-super nervous." Kyung digs the marker into the soft area of his skull here, and Minhyuk covers the flinch by curling his fingers into the examination chair's armrest. "But Kyung was a pro. You have nothing to worry about."
Minhyuk relaxes into the cushioning behind his head, and Jihoon's expression lights up upon this small movement. Kyung tinkers with a few objects on the rolling-tray he has brought forward, but Minhyuk cannot turn his head to see what it is. Jihoon is still talking, whispering what could be more reassurances to Minhyuk, but no one is listening.
"Alright, let's see," Kyung says, professional and distant. "State your name and who it is you're wanting to erase."
"My name is Lee Minhyuk. I am here to erase," he says, certain, then. He pauses, though, hesitant. Kyung looks up from behind his black-framed glasses. Minhyuk swallows soundlessly. "Kim Yukwon."
Jiho situates a cold object onto the areas Minhyuk felt Kyung dot, but he asks no questions. The room begins to erode away-first the lines in the ceiling and then Jihoon's facial features. Jiho's warmth goes next, but his vision is focused resolutely on Kyung whose image does not waver.
"Keep talking," Kyung says. "Talk about your first memories, your last, what you hated about him, what you always thought about him."
Minhyuk opens his mouth, but he cannot hear what he's saying. Even Kyung's face is disintegrating into tiny flesh-colored pixels. Then, he finds himself outside his own body but inside the examination room where Jiho and Jihoon are setting up a monitor by his prone form.
Disoriented, Minhyuk glances to his hands and wiggles his toes in his shoes. He touches the wall beside him and feels it; he is tangible. He watches Kyung make a note in a folder, slide the swivel chair to the nearby desk, and send a very unprofessional gesture to Jiho.
"I don't. Why am I." Minhyuk furrows his brows, but when Jiho encourages him further he understands that they can hear him speak. "What is going on?"
"We're drawing a timeline for you to follow," Kyung says.
Jihoon steps forward to stand beside him, points at Kyung who busies himself with the monitor and papers on the tray, and says, "It's like. Your mind is a really awesome puzzle-like one of those puzzles where you have to find your way from start to finish? It's really cool."
"In other words,” Kyung says, "you'll be going backwards." He offers Minhyuk an encouraging smile as he sorts through the papers in the folder. He further explains, "You'll be tangible as you are now, but you'll be invisible to everyone in your memories."
Minhyuk watches as Jiho rifles through one of his garbage bags, and Kyung makes another note on the papers in his lap. The room is eroding away slower now, just the corners and the world outside the windows, and Jiho pulls out the messy hand-made photo album from the sack.
"He's cute," Jiho says, conversationally, flipping through the pages. "Don't know why you'd let that go-I'd tap it."
Kyung rolls his eyes, manhandles the photo album out of Jiho's hands, and tosses it to Minhyuk. "Study it," Kyung says by way of explanation, and Minhyuk turns to a random page. Yukwon in the photo smiles back at him, and his stomach churns. The machine beside Kyung beeps, loud and mechanical. "Good; you're responding well."
Jihoon digs through the sack next; he hands him pages of crumpled sheet music. Minhyuk bites his bottom lip, takes in the illegible handwriting spelling out his own name (the message Yukwon wrote at the top of the page, happy birthday, dumbass! smile more!, and the lopsided heart that followed afterward), and the machine makes another resounding beep.
They continue like this for some time, and the environment around Minhyuk fades more and more with every item they show him. He hears Kyung, barely a whisper now, say, "The brain signals are healthy... just, try to remember him now."
Everything else vanishes.
Minhyuk stands in his apartment living room, takes in the empty take-out boxes on the floor and the unwashed laundry near the hall, and finds that he is stuck between himself-from-memories and Yukwon.
He recognizes the tension in the other Minhyuk's shoulders, the downward curl of his lips, and the tautness of his fists. Yukwon is turned away from him, head hung low as he adjusts his guitar case, and the silence is thicker than Minhyuk remembers. Static-filled news reports sound off on the television set, and the fridge fills the spaces in between with its distant humming.
This was their last fight, and, subsequently, the last time he saw Yukwon.
Would you fucking listen to me? Minhyuk, or at least the Minhyuk in his memory, says. Just once.
Yukwon stalls in his movements near the doorway, props his guitar case against the frame beside Minhyuk’s dress shoes, and stands from his crouch. The popping of his knees does little to lessen the quiet of their surroundings.
Minhyuk stills from where he watches, an intruder upon his own memories. He flicks his gaze to the other Minhyuk, and it’s strange viewing his own angry face and tense posture from an outside perspective.
This isn't a fucking game, Yukwon, he hears his own voice say, and the words drag deep into his gut. When are you going to wake up and realize that?
Minhyuk moves from his spot looking into the scene, and he takes tiny steps-one, two, three, he counts in his head-until he is standing to the side of Yukwon. He reaches out, touches his shoulder, and feels the warmth of real flesh beneath his fingertips. Startled by this, Minhyuk backs away, holding his hand as if burned by his own memories.
Yukwon's shoulders drop forward, as though he is falling into himself, and Minhyuk never saw the tired lines in his face-not until now with Yukwon staring back at him. He missed out on a few details then-too angry and too determined to prove how right he was; he sees that now, in the line of Yukwon's back and the weary way he turns.
What? Yukwon asks, and his voice is pitched low; it's hoarser than Minhyuk remembers.
You're just fucking around, Minhyuk says, and there's this cutting edge to his voice-the tone he takes when he's at his angriest.
Yukwon refuses to back down, and he stands there as the other Minhyuk lashes out. Minhyuk watches Yukwon's Adam's apple bob, the way the muscles in his arms twitch, and the deep breath he takes in. Looking back, Minhyuk finds that anything he could have said at that moment would have led to the same scenario-Yukwon's defeated stance, Yukwon slamming the door hard enough for even the walls to shake, Yukwon not coming back, Yukwon erasing him.
Minhyuk furrows his brows, no longer paying attention to the scene unfolding, because fuck the feeling of knowing Yukwon erased him only days after makes his jaw tighten and his teeth clench. Yukwon closes off from Minhyuk as the argument progresses, but he sees himself only grow angrier with every comment made. The noise escelates, swallows the sounds of gunshots on the television and drowns out the humming of the fridge, and it is only cut when Yukwon wrenches the door open. He slams it shut.
"You were always good about leaving," Minhyuk says to empty space. "Well, fuck you. I didn't-don't-need you."
The other him shuffles somewhere in the background, punches a dent into the wall-Minhyuk hung a calendar over the morning after, in case Yukwon came home-and stalks into his bedroom. Minhyuk doesn't follow him, he just stands there, willing the door to swing back open.
His hands shake, and he feels like a wind-up doll with springs wound so tight that he just might break. He drank green tea the next morning to relax, turned on the cartoon Yukwon always watched, and waited for his cell to buzz with a text from Yukwon. It never happened, and the more Minhyuk remembers the more he wishes he could forget.
He reaches for the doorknob, and the room peels away.
He lives through another fight, watches the way Yukwon stands up for his dreams this time, hears his own voice cutting Yukwon down. Do you even want anything in life? Stability? A home? The same words Minhyuk can still hear his father yelling at him.
Yukwon is stronger than Minhyuk ever was-he shoves back when someone pushes him. Minhyuk watches them fight over the bills, over Yukwon's (lack of) work-singing at the train station won't get you anywhere-all the way to who should be doing what chores.
Tell me what I should be doing, Yukwon snaps.
Yukwon drops the dish he's washing into soapy water, wipes his hands on the yellow towel hanging on the cabinet's handle, and turns to face Minhyuk. He is taken aback, not because it appears as though Yukwon is looking at him and not through him, but because of the way his expression has tightened. Minhyuk can see the way Yukwon draws into himself, and the pang in his chest tells him it's all his fault.
"You should've stayed," Minhyuk says at the same time his other self says something about finding a job that can pay the bills or at least his damn insurance.
He watches them from the passenger seat of the taxi cab as they spend the night on the town-a rare ocassion, Yukwon's treat, because Minhyuk's been more stressed lately than usual. He thinks he catches Yukwon's gaze, darkened and sultry, a few times from the rearview mirror, but he knows he's most likely seeing what he wants to see instead of what is actually happening. A trick of his own mind, and it's a dirty trick to say the least.
He slides into the booth across from them at the club, finds himself more fascinated with the way Yukwon smiles rather than the colorful stagelights, and watches his own face's reactions to every action Yukwon makes. The unadulterated adoration he sees staring back at him scares him more than it should. It's in the way the other Minhyuk drags his hand down Yukwon's side, absentmindedly, as he talks in a low murmur; in the way the other Minhyuk leans in closer to speak to Yukwon when the bass' volume turns too loud; in the way Minhyuk still knows all of Yukwon's favorite drinks, that Yukwon hates the fruity cocktails Minhyuk prefers, and the way fast-paced music makes them both want to dance.
He sits with himself when Yukwon leaves for the dance-floor, joining a mutual friend near the edge-in perfect view so Minhyuk never has to worry or fear losing him in the crowd.
"You fucked it up," Minhyuk says to himself, but the other Minhyuk is clearly not listening. The only person the other Minhyuk is aware of-and the clawing in his chest comes back with a vengeance-is Yukwon.
Minhyuk blearily walks through the next memories, as if in a trance. Every time he reaches out for Yukwon, the scene shifts and he's caught grasping at the dust particles of his memories.
The next memory Minhyuk doesn't even remember happening. He glances to the desk calendar-smiles, fond, at the silly reminders scribbled on random dates. It's Thursday, a holiday from work, and he's spending it indoors on what seems to be a sunny day.
He walks into the kitchenette and finds the other Minhyuk busily preparing lunch-samgyupsal, something they could share and feed to each other. Minhyuk hears his own voice humming to the guitar sounds from the living room. Minhyuk stuffs his hands into his pockets and wanders into the living room.
Yukwon stretches out on the couch meant to seat only two comfortably, and his skin is bare of any shirt (tossed to side because it's too stuffy in the apartment even with the oscillating fan). The tan from the long summer season spent in absolute sunshine has faded with the autumnal days; the bronze-tone of his forearms gradually pales into the pinkened flesh of his chest. Minhyuk sits beside Yukwon on the couch, near his feet, in his trance-like state. Yukwon's eyes are shut, expression softened by the daylight bleeding in through the open window, and his fingers tweak listlessly at the guitar strings.
Minhyuk curls his fingers around one of Yukwon's ankles, squeezes lightly, and leans into the warmth he can feel radiating from his body. He hears the other Minhyuk call into the room-joking about something a friend from work said-and Minhyuk shivers when Yukwon's laughter fans against his cheek. Minhyuk notices only now that he has moved into Yukwon's personal space.
"Yukwon," he says, slowly.
Minhyuk hesitates, but Yukwon's skin is beneath his fingers for the first time in what feels like years. He doesn't want to let this moment pass by. Minhyuk angles his head lower, and he presses closer until their foreheads comfortably touch and their lips align. Yukwon is saying words that Minhyuk cannot hear, too absorbed in his own thoughts, and the grin on his face-the way it overtakes everything else until Minhyuk can see no flaws, distracts him.
He closes his eyes momentarily, but when he cracks them open again the image of Yukwon is beginning to undo itself. He panics in this moment because Yukwon still looks so fucking happy and the other Minhyuk is laughing and nothing is wrong. He wants to beg Kyung to stop now.
Minhyuk says, "I love you."
"Don't erase anything else," Minhyuk shouts into the blackness surrounding him as his mind tries to build another memory from the ground up.
He hears Jiho snort-it echoes in the silence-and say, "You asked for this, you know. You wanted it."
"I don't." Minhyuk turns, sees himself standing in the midst of a busy train station, and he glances toward the sky, shouts, "I don't want this anymore."
"You can't take it back now," Jihoon says, and his voice sounds somehow saddened by his own words.
Minhyuk grabs the hair near his temple loosely in his fists, then he unfurls his fingers to shape the rest of his hair into disarray. He wanders aimlessly, aware that this is the first time he cannot find the other Minhyuk, and bumps shoulders with a nameless man in a suit.
"Sorry," Minhyuk mumbles as he peers into the crowd of people.
The man huffs and brushes his jacket. "Watch where you're going next time."
Minhyuk stiffens. The traffic of people regard him the same-uncaring and distant-but if that man had heard him then-
He hears Kyung, somewhere, say, "Here's your second chance."
Minhyuk pushes past the people, disregarding the shouts and curses following in his wake, and he takes the steps up the platform two at a time in his haste. Minhyuk's suit is vintage-possibly the suit he bought years ago for a friend's wedding; one that never happened because the groom didn't show-and his pants legs' gather the grime of the train station with every puddle his feet land in. The weather has yet to slacken, and it's soon to be the beginning of the monsoon season.
When he reaches the top of the platform Minhyuk can make out the figure of someone-a man no older than him-setting up a small trash bin and sitting there to perform on his guitar to an audience of no one. His breath catches, but his heart does not slow. He takes large, determined steps forward, because this time he is sure, and doesn't stop until they're standing an arm's length away.
"Hi," Yukwon says, smiling. His hair is yellow, the roots need a serious touch-up, but, fuck, if the smile isn't exactly how Minhyuk remembers it to be.
Minhyuk throws dignity and pride into a corner of his mind, keeps them there, as he pulls Yukwon into him. He feels Yukwon struggle, briefly, and the curious stares of onlookers nearby. He lets out a shaky breath, and he bites his bottom lip when the edges of the scene begin to burn away-this is it, no turning back.
"I finally have you again," Minhyuk says. He buries his nose into Yukwon's neck, sniffs the open collar of his jacket, and this is actually Yukwon in his arms. "Don't. Don't leave next time, dumbass. I want a second chance."
Yukwon squirms, but does not leave his hold. He simply pulls away to stare hard at Minhyuk's face. "What if it doesn't work out?"
"I don't care," Minhyuk says, realizes it's the truth and it's not that scary to admit. "I would do it all over again. I just. Fuck, Yukwon, I love you."
Yukwon's smile is the last thing he sees when everything begins to turn to grayscale. Then, everything is black.
Tuesdays are no better than Mondays, but Minhyuk steps into the station with a new found purpose.
The crowd bustles around him, a few elementary school students skirt around him as they bumble about, and the world is still doused in gray.
Jaehyo texts him in steady succession: my bf wants me to meet his friend; fuck, i think he's allergic to cats; minhyuk. help a friend out???^^; minhyuk, i'm abusing the spare key priviledges today. Minhyuk rolls his eyes and pockets his cell-there's no need to respond anyway; the cat is most likely curled in the middle of his bed by now.
He reaches the platform with little time to spare-the clock hanging on the above post ticks time by far too quickly-and the train's doors will soon close. Minhyuk walks closer, bows his head to a man he brushes shoulders with (ignores his words of watch where you're going next time), and allows a cute teenager to slip onto the train car before him.
But-
The man from Monday settles his guitar in his lap, runs his hands over the neck, and reaches up to fiddle with the tuning knobs. A woman asks him if he's boarding, and he distractedly shakes his head. He pulls away then, makes room for the elderly couple to pass, and takes thirteen measured strides to reach the guitarist.
"Hi," the guitarist says, smiling. His hair is yellow, the roots need a serious touch-up, and his smile is gorgeous. His fingers strum a few notes, tips intimately familiar with the instrument. "Can I help you?"
"Yeah," Minhyuk says, nodding. "Yeah." He sticks out his hand, finds his own lips twitch upward in response to this man's brilliant beam, and says, "I'm Lee Minhyuk."
"Kim Yukwon."
Minhyuk is certain that Yukwon's smile-bright and unwavering-will be the last thing he ever remembers in this life.
for e. there will never be a device that could wipe you from my memory. also, to the other half of the banana pairing: this would have never been completed without you. happy holidays to all those who observe.
title taken from Alexander Pope's Eloisa to Abelard, and partly inspired by the movie which the quote appears in (Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind).
[ETA] there will be author commentary for this fic because there is a lot I have yet to say for it.