[fanfiction] A Moment in Time

Mar 24, 2008 23:16

Title: A Moment in Time
FANFICTION: TVfXQ
ONE SHOT
Rating: PG
Comments: Written for the Yunchun timeline exchange at yunchun_ywh. It's been such a long time since I wrote something, let alone something like this O_o I'm definitely getting rusty... -_-;;

And just to keep track of this 'entry'... @yunchun_ywh and @hug______.

As well: [ Round 1 entries] [ Round 2 entries]



His steps are sure even if his mind is not.

The confident clacking of his shoes gets lost amidst the noise of the crowd as he enters the busy train station. His arrival is not early enough to warrant boredom nor is he late enough to have entered in a rush, tie flapping into disarray. No, his responsibility as a businessman calls for professional punctuality, even if the current mode of transportation is prone to accidents, resulting in unstable timetables, especially more so during the crisp winter season.

A rush of uneasiness overcomes him. He bears uncomfortable memories of train stations, remembering them as times of parting and tears. In his most vivid recollection, he can’t recall who had been leaving though, so why had he cried back then? All he remembers are faceless people looming over him and who seem to have no definite age, no definite gender. Just like these people that sometimes come in his dreams, he sits down in a seat recently vacated just as the speaker blares overhead, informing of a delay. The scarce snow outside sparkles, as if mocking.

The delay is of no importance, something to be expected. He is in no rush to reach his physical destination, a little less than three hours on the KTX, the preferred mode of transportation these days. His company had already booked his tickets, one for now and one to come back in two weeks time.

Now he has to wait. His ears can’t help but pick up the bits of chatter around him. All of these conversations are signs that the people here know each other in some way, whether they are family to send off their relatives, or friends along for the ride. He himself is alone.

He lets his eyes laze over the occupants of the station, seemingly giving him an air of superiority, perhaps even arrogance. Then he takes out his paperwork, as is his usual habit. He misses the eyes that watch him.

In truth, the train is sitting nearby, undergoing some last minute maintenance. When that is finished the speakers blare again to announce the call for departure. Everyone predictably rushes for the cars, impatient due to the delay. He packs up slowly and takes a leisurely walk though, his window seat having been reserved for him. He is content; windows let him see outside to scenery that comforts him better than being amongst his fellow train-car passengers.

He has momentarily lost himself within his own mundane thoughts, but he is jolted out of his reverie by the presence of a young man, around the same age he is, whose rich voice greets him, “Hello, how are you?” He nods in politeness while stating his general wellbeing and watches briefly as this stranger takes the seat right beside him.

This stranger has an air of confidence that is different from his own; it is natural and free-flowing. It seems too that this stranger is a veteran in travelling, as his luggage is sparse in comparison to everyone else’s bulky suitcases and duffel bags. Or perhaps he sees no significance in carrying a larger life around when compact ones are easier to manoeuvre with.

He turns his attention back to the window as the train starts to accelerate, feeling the stranger’s presence beginning to affect him. It’s arranged of effects that make him feel insignificant and it evokes in him a state of mind that he hasn’t encountered before... or has he? His thoughts drift uncharacteristically as he takes in the blurring scenery rushing by. Eventually though, duty calls and he takes out some paperwork, even if for some inconceivable reason he really doesn’t feel like doing it right now.

It’s the sense of liberation, oddly familiar, which he feels emanating from the other man and it makes him wonder when his life had become so restricted. All he remembers is working hard, harder than anyone else, and that was what had him already working in a corporate business when most people his age would still be in university. An accomplishment that not many can boast about.

What satisfaction has he really had from life though? There is a nagging feeling that he was happy before, before hard work and stress and reality over took his life. Something had disappeared then.

Now he is heading to Busan from Seoul, first to attend an international conference and afterwards to negotiate with some Japanese partners. His own grasp of the other language is not fluent, but sufficient enough. Just a requirement of his occupation.

He breaks from his thoughts as he catches a random motion from the corner of his eye. Once his attention shifts from his supposed work, his seat companion offers him an ink stained hand. “I’m Yoochun.”

His own reaction is automatic, giving a firm handshake while introducing himself with his business voice, “Yunho.” For some reason, Yoochun’s name seems familiar, makes him feel more relaxed. The genuinely warm smile that the other gives him is a welcome difference from the stiff, polite smiles of the workplace.

“I remember you.”

He cocks his head quizzically at this statement, hand still grasping the other’s slender fingers. Or is it his hand that is still being grasped? He feels a gentle squeeze before Yoochun pulls away with a strangely whimsical expression on his face.

“You don’t remember me, it seems. But you seem to be doing well.”

Normally he can deal with everyday people striking up a conversation, but he is wordless for a while, his work-trained mind uncertain with what is happening. Meanwhile, his heart somehow leaps at the prospect of possibly knowing this carefree man. Then, “I’m sorry, but who are you?”

A food trolley has gone and past as Yoochun patiently forms his enigmatic answer. “I suppose... it makes sense that you don’t remember me. You did seem more significant to me than I to you...” His eyes slide out of focus as he faces front and settles into his seat, lapsing into silence.

His curiosity is now piqued, but no matter how hard he tries to remember this Yoochun, it seems just out of reach. He feels troubled not knowing, and yet the presence of the man beside him is calming. The conflict of body tensions is awkward, so he seeks out a more direct response to the question still hanging in the air.

“Yoochun-sshi.” The name rolls smoothly off his tongue and yet not without effort, although the weight of its syllables feel natural and previously explored. The formality seems a bit awkward though, even more so when the other refuses it.

“Just Yoochun is fine. You’re older than me, Yunho-hyung.”

This admission reveals more than it should, while also obscuring their intermingled pasts even more. He hesitates as their eyes meet and he is awed at the hint of emotions that dwell just underneath the surface. “Yoochun.” He repeats and tastes the name tentatively. “Who am I to you?”

There is a hint of danger, a taste of forbidden territory in Yoochun’s reply. “Are you sure you want to know?”

He nods with some reluctance, missing the playful glint in the other’s eyes.

“We were lovers.”

His breath hitches as he tries to process this simple little statement. Surely his memory capabilities haven’t deteriorated so much as to have forgotten something as significant as this? His brows furrow slightly and his eyes are pursed with tension in his anxiety at that thought. Then a sweeping cacophony of hearty laughter erupts from his side and he flushes in embarrassment, having realized that his gullibility has been played with.

Yoochun gives an apologetic grin for his teasing. “We really weren’t lovers, hyung. You’re still the same as always though.”

He shifts uneasily, despite the lightened atmosphere. “I... still don’t know who you are.”

Yoochun’s soulful eyes slowly turn solemn, scrutinizing him carefully. His gaze is extremely intense and hungry for recognition. Then a sorrowful sigh.

“It doesn’t seem like you remember anything.” He shakes his head, waiting for Yoochun, who seems to now be rather hesitant. “It might be traumatic... but you deserve to know.

“We met in elementary school, third grade, when I moved from America. Rather, I saw you, but you never seemed to notice me. Too busy, you were, either in the library or off somewhere else studying.”

He should wait until Yoochun finishes telling his tale, but he feels impatient. “If I didn’t really know you, how am I supposed to remember you?” He regrets his logic as soon as it leaves his mouth, the other wincing at his bluntness before continuing.

“I approached you one day, to thank you. You told off some kids that had been picking on me for me being new, for coming from America. Of course, you only stopped them because it was too noisy for you. You were a bit stuck-up in that matter, too focused on studying. But you seemed lonely. And I knew lonely.

“In a tumble of events, you became my first friend. It seems that I was your first friend too. We were such a strange combination.”

He can feel something starting to nudge at the back of his memory as his past self is described, very much like how he is right now. Yoochun has paused for a while, trying to gauge his reaction. Faint moments of laughter and joyfulness seem to be just out of his reach, seem to require more encouragement from this person who seems to contain his past.

“I became someone I didn’t think I could honestly become, because of you. You had me work harder than I ever had, and you did it with a great big smile on your face. That was how things worked. Up until grade nine.”

It seems like an echo, an echo of something he still hasn’t grasped yet. He nods for Yoochun to go on, anticipating with mixed feelings for his organized world to come crashing down upon him.

“We... were fooling around, a bit too carelessly.” There is an unspoken implication in those words, but he pays no attention to it. He’ll know in time. For now, he is being strung upon the suspense of the unknown, not knowing whether to dread or hope.

Yoochun visibly shudders as he relives his memories. “People spread rumours. I... I got beaten up, badly enough for you to lose your mind.”

Flashes of blood, broken bones and tears. A scrabble for sanity of a shattered soul. A kiss full of apologies. He gasps, flinching as his memory gates unlock, releasing a flood of emotional memories. His body trembles violently at the intense recollections, forcing his papers into a frenzied mess. There was a reason he had blocked the past out; it was and still is too painful.

A hand grips his tentatively, in an effort to soothe. It nearly pulls away at the sudden grasp he has on it in desperation. He wishes they were in a private room, so that his emotions could be relieved fully. It’s all too sudden, and the train is too public, too open, too suffocating. Why now?

“Yoochun.” This time the name flows off his tongue without the indifference of before, because now he knows how much he has missed having that name on his lips. It curls up warmly upon his tongue, settling languidly upon his ears.

And now he remembers why train stations make him uneasy. Soon after the incident, soon after Yoochun could move, Yoochun had left without telling him. He only found out on the day of departure, and he ran to the station. He had arrived breathless and in tears, to find that he had missed his closest friend, his only dear friend by mere minutes.

“You left,” he whispers. His voice is shaking.

“I had no choice.”

“You didn’t let me see you.” It’s so hard holding back his tears.

“I wasn’t allowed.”

“It was too painful missing you.” He takes a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves.

“I’m sorry, Yunho.”

It is this additional heartfelt apology that undoes him, despite his efforts to not break down in public. He cries silently, shaking his head. “No, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I forgot about you, about everything. I wasn’t strong enough to handle the criticisms, even if it wasn’t the truth. I shouldn’t have done that, knowing how much you suffered.”

“It’s okay, hyung, it’s okay. You didn’t do anything wrong.” He can feel Yoochun’s raw emotions hanging in the air though, feels the need to sink into an embrace of protection. All he gets is another hand squeeze from the person who had actually saved him, changed him back then, but it’s more than enough for now.

Wordlessly, time is given to him to reflect upon old memories that seem so familiar and yet so new. The hand that he now grips is reassuring, and he doesn’t know if he wants to let it go, even if his mind is stiff to that thought. It’s so hard to break habits that have now been twice acquired; holding his emotions back, working for a success that wasn’t really his own, restraining himself. If there’s anything to be learned from observing life in today’s society, it is that certain types of happiness cannot be freely enjoyed. Yes, that is the explanation he holds for the tear streaks that have now dried on his face. Nothing had been their fault.

He squeezes his hand, a silent sign that his mind has settled down. He receives a return squeeze, but he knows Yoochun is waiting for him to break the silence.

So he does. Stupidly enough, he goes back to the past, but he has a burning desire to know. “Yoochun. Where did you go?”

“Back to America. My mother thought that it would help me, but I just ended up being a social outcast.” An indifferent shrug, hiding the lingering pain. “My English did get better though,” Yoochun emphasizes, his grin instantly pulling them to the present.

He raises his eyebrows.

“What? You said English was sexy.”

“Only if you’re fluent in it.”

“Hey! My English is pretty good! Watch what you’re saying, Mr. Businessman.”

He laughs; it feels extremely gratifying even as the mention of his career makes him feel a little ashamed now. It’s not like he doesn’t like his job, but if he had a choice between this and something he enjoyed, he would have preference for the latter. It might’ve been something he would have done if Yoochun hadn’t disappeared, if he didn’t lock away Yoochun’s existence. A glimmer of hope still exists though, he’s still quite young, and look at who has come back.

“Alright then, I’m a businessman, on my way to do business,” he concedes, for it’s the truth. And since they’re on the topic, he can’t imagine his friend in an office type environment; it will never contain him. “And what would be your purpose in going to Busan?”

Yoochun’s eyes glitter as he speaks with a poetic air, poignant passion in his voice. “As a free spirit, unchained by the fetters of common civilization, I search for souls who have lost their purpose and bring it back to them.”

His hand is raised towards full lips as Yoochun lightly kisses his knuckles, mysterious eyes locked with his own. He smiles hopelessly. His friend has matured, but he really hasn’t changed at all.

After getting past the ambiguity of his friend’s description, he learns that Yoochun is officially a composer, freelancing without a permanent office. He is a weaver of intricate melodies that tell of stories; past, present and the future, and now he is on his way to feel the air of inspiration upon his skin. It’s surprising how they have seats beside each other for the same trip, if not the same purpose.

But he has a feeling that this reunion was no coincidence. After all, his soul had been lost.

They continue to talk, quickly filling in the gaps of their lives. So much has happened, and yet it seems like that chunk of time is so insignificant in comparison to the instant of now and to their younger days. He feels an energy fill him up, synonymous with a growing liveliness that he hasn’t felt for years.

All too soon the train slows down as it enters Busan, Yoochun quickly blurting out sheepishly that he has no place to stay. That admittance is met with immense scepticism, but his implied request is silently complied to.

They exit the station side by side into the crisp air of Busan. A solid definition of their relationship is still sketchy at most now, but at least there’s plenty of time to put down the notes and play out a new melody. It’s a new page to start on, even if the future is uncertain. Even if he doesn’t know who he really is right now.

His heart is sure though, even if his mind is not.

oneshot, tvfxq, fanfiction

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