PurgaTorio for Two [1/2]
Title: PurgaTorio for Two
Author: Anonymous until 1/30/14
For: for_you_i_am
Pairing: Baekhyun/Chanyeol, semi!Baekhyun-centric
Word Count: 15,400
Summary: Baekhyun goes searching for someone important and finds himself on a bus that takes him into a future that leads back to the past.
Warnings: implied!suicide, semi!characterdeath, implied!depression
Rating: PG-13
One
In Baekhyun’s first moments, he’s cracking an egg over a bowl of freshly steamed rice. A bright orange yolk is drowned in exactly three tablespoons of soy sauce. Chopsticks dive into the center and everything mixes together.
He has a resolution, especially today.
He's going to find him. No matter what.
He's going to bring him home.
Baekhyun is skipping classes today. Its not as if missing a couple lectures will actually do any damage, and since high school graduation, his parents don't give him flack for anything.
He has one bowl of rice, piping hot enough to steam the egg. One cup of roasted green tea, purchased from their next door neighbor, and then Baekhyun quickly rinses his dishes. Then, he puts them in the drying rack.
He slings his backpack over his shoulder just as his mother is coming down the stairs. He pauses to glance back at her.
"Sometimes I wonder if we should have let you dorm with your friends," she hums. Her hair is a mess and she's in her berry red bathrobe. "Maybe you would have more fun."
Baekhyun smiles weakly, but reassuringly, "It was for the money, and dorm life isn't for everybody. This way I never miss home."
Baekhyun's mother just sighs, "I don't think I'm ever going to be quite ready to let you go."
Baekhyun laughs as he yanks on his sneakers. He takes a couple steps out of his path to pat his mother on the head. She seems so small and frail compared to before.
"Have a good day in class."
Baekhyun kisses her on the cheek, walks out the door, and shuts it behind him.
The walk to the forest is slow. He does not rush, just one foot in front of the other, carefully bringing him to his final destination.
There are gates surrounding everything. Seven feet of fence, topped off with swirls of barbed wire. There’s contrast between the rigidity of the metal against the old trees held within, stretching up into the sky.
There are pamphlets and a plaque explaining the forest. There are warnings and phone numbers plastered onto the corkboard right by the path.
Baekhyun ignores it all, adjusts the bag on his shoulders, and walks right through the open gate.
There is no other option.
There’s a clear path that visitors are meant to follow, but this forest, although surrounded by civilization, is an island of genuine wilderness. The path only goes so far before things start becoming less clear cut.
The paths begin to branch off, offering options, and no matter which one Baekhyun decides to take, every single one feathers off into a much narrower dirt track.
He has a map in his backpack, but things are already so muddled that he knows instructions won’t take him anywhere.
Then, the fog settles in.
He staggers forward, following the small path of stepped on greenery, the closest option to a designated walkway.
He can’t turn around now.
He came here with a purpose. Baekhyun is determined to find him, no matter at what cost. He’s scared, the fear clouds more and more as the fog thickens.
There are no guarantees that he’s here, Baekhyun knows that, but his gut insists that he must be here. He couldn’t be anywhere else.
He staggers on and on, dodging rocks and hoping over fallen trees, grown over with moss and harvested upon by animals and insects, creeping and crawling on the forest floor.
He’s tired, he needs to rest, if not for a moment, but something in his head tells him that if he stops, he’s not going to start again.
Then, he stumbles, tripping over something he couldn’t see in the dim forest light. He staggers forward, head crashing to the ground first, hands too slow to cushion his fall.
Baekhyun’s ears ring as he tries to pull himself onto his knees. His vision isn’t steady, rocking back and forth like a pendulum, dark and fuzzy at the edges. He sucks in deep, calming breaths, trying to gain back his bearings. He tries to stay as still as possible until his vision steadies and his head stops pounding. It takes a long time, much longer than he anticipated, until he can think clearly again.
He gives himself a moment before he balances his palm against a nearby log and pulls himself up to his feet.
He begins walking again.
It’s like he’s walking on the floor of a murky pond. The fog is so dense that he can’t even see his own hand in front of him. He’s smothered by the lack of clarity. He would almost think he was drowning in water, but the air is so clean and cold that it practically cuts into his throat with each breath.
He continues stumbling forward, hands stretched out in front of him. He’s blinded by the mist, staggering on and on into the milky gray before him.
At last, he finds something.
There’s a blue circle, a something in a sea of nothing. Baekhyun walks towards it, fingers outstretched in its direction. The mist clears around the sign, a blue panel nailed to a metal pole, jammed deep into the ground. Baekhyun walks towards it, wrapping his fingers around the pole once he’s near enough. The metal is cold against his palm. The fog dissipates into wisps just around the sign, but is impossibly thick everywhere else.
Baekhyun glances up at the big blue dot nailed to the top. Upon closer inspection, the blue is outlined with a border of white, framing one word in big, bold letters.
WAIT
Wait? Baekhyun wonders. Wait for what?
But the blue sign is the only thing he can see in this ocean of nothing. The only sliver of sense rests in this one word, wait.
He could keep wandering, but he doesn’t know which way is forward and which way is back. He doesn’t remember which way he came from and he doesn’t remember why he has managed to wander this way anyway. He’s been walking so long. Why did he begin?
He listens to the sign. He waits. There’s no other option.
The air grows colder and colder and Baekhyun’s eyelids begin to droop. Then, he hears a soft sound in the background. It sounds like breathing at first, a soft inhale and a soft exhale. It sends chills dancing down Baekhyun’s spine.
The sound grows louder and Baekhyun realizes it’s more of a whistle and a chug, soft puffs of something that sounds like an engine in the distance slowly making its way closer.
He squints into the distance, but the fog is too thick, it’s almost as if nothing is there. His shoulders tense as the grinding sound of working machinery grows louder and more urgent. The harsh whistle rips its way through the mist.
Baekhyun leans back on his heels and is immediately grateful because the incoming object misses his nose by not even a centimeter. He sucks in a breath of surprise, but the air is thin and it’s almost as if he didn’t breathe at all.
The object is a bus, an old boxy frame with a wearing periwinkle on the bottom half, contrasted with a yellowing white coat of paint on the top half of the vehicle. It’s not like a city commuter bus. It’s small, like a halfway between a van and a truck. Baekhyun can’t see through the windows, they’re tinted with a layer of dust. He wonders if it’s dark inside.
The bus screeches to a stop, bumper aligned perfectly with the sign. Baekhyun steps back, tendrils of fog curling around him as he moves away slowly. His eyes never stray from the mysterious bus.
Then the door swings open.
There’s a silence and everything is still, then there’s the soft clack of footsteps and a figure appears in the doorframe.
The man in the bus is too big for it. He hunches his shoulders and bows his head just to head down the steps. He is all long limbs, suited in all black with a crisp black tie. It looks like he was born into the suit, shiny black boots peek out from underneath the trouser legs.
Something makes Baekhyun stop.
The man is wearing a mask. A clown mask, made out of something that looks like a mix between paper mache and leather. There are drooping purple rings around the eye holes, and sagging red lines around the mouth. Baekhyun is still as the pupils flick around.
Baekhyun is far back enough at this point that the fog should conceal him. He can really barely see the figure through the haze. He quietly scoots back, wondering if the clown man has spotted him.
“You,” the voice is deep and it runs chills up and down Baekhyun’s spine. The clown man isn’t looking at him, but Baekhyun doesn’t see anybody else there. His muscles stiffen, prepared to run. “Don’t bother running, you won’t be able to outrun me.”
Baekhyun stays completely silent, hoping that perhaps by some chance the man is not speaking to him. But the clown eyes focus on him and Baekhyun knows there’s no way he can hide now.
“You,” the clown man calls out, “Who are you?"
Baekhyun’s voice shakes, “My name is Baekhyun.”
The clown man walks up to him, all long strides and hunched shoulders, “Do you have bus fare?”
“Bus fare?”
“Do you?”
“What bus fare?” Baekhyun shivers as the clown man walks closer and closer.
“Let me see your hand,” the clown man says, now standing directly in front of Baekhyun. He holds a hand out, waiting for Baekhyun to place his hand in his.
“Why?”
The clown man doesn’t answer, just waits patiently with his palm extended.
Baekhyun reluctantly places the back of his hand against the clown man’s hand. The clown man’s hand is cold and dry.
The clown man uses his other hand to spread apart Baekhyun’s fingers, clenched into a fist. Baekhyun is surprised to find a silver coin hidden in his palm. The small silver disk is worn at the edges, and he can barely make out a bold “X” etched into the face of the coin.
“You do,” the clown man says.
Baekhyun says nothing as the clown man takes it from his palm.
“Come,” the clown man says, turning around and heading back up onto the bus.
“I don’t want to,” Baekhyun says out of reflex.
The clown man doesn’t even bother turning around, “Whatever you want.”
Baekhyun stays in his spot and watches the clown man board the bus, sitting down in the driver’s seat and crossing his endlessly long legs. The mask faces Baekhyun and the man waits expectantly.
At last, Baekhyun follows the clown man. He doesn’t know any other way out and he’s already paid the fare. Besides, the more he thinks about it, the less he can think of any alternative.
By the time Baekhyun is seated in the left side, third row, he can’t seem to remember anything except the bus and the clown man. He tries to peer out the window as the clown man pulls the lever and the bus door closes with a grinding screech, but there is too much dust and too much fog and all Baekhyun can see is a wash of pale, misty beige.
“Where does this bus go? How long will I be here?” Baekhyun asks.
The clown man snaps his fingers and the engine roars to life, then he steps on the gas and doesn’t answer Baekhyun’s questions.
Baekhyun considers repeating his questions, but it’s really only the two of them on the bus. There’s no way that the clown did not hear.
So Baekhyun lapses into silence. He sits quietly, left leg crossed over his knee, eyes focused ahead. He stares out of the windshield and wonders how the clown knows how to drive when all he can see is endless gray.
He begins to doze off, head lolling off to the side as he tries to keep his eyelids peeled back. The ride is so uneventful; there are no big hills, everything seems to be flat. He falls deeper and deeper into a daze, eventually bordering the line of consciousness and subconsciousness before he’s jerked awake by the sudden halt of the bus.
Baekhyun’s eyes flutter open. There is such a sudden burst of light that he immediately squints and blinks quickly to adjust.
The bus is stopped and there is now light streaming in through the windows. The clown man is sitting up front in the driver’s seat, head turned and neck craned so that his face is staring straight at Baekhyun. The clown’s lips are turned up into an eerie smile.
“We’ve arrived,” the clown says, voice deep enough to shake Baekhyun’s bones.
Baekhyun stares, unable to respond, and the clown stares right back.
“You may disembark,” the clown says. The words are emotionless.
Baekhyun stands up in one swift motion and nods quickly, hurrying off the bus as soon as the clown man extends an arm to pull the lever and swing the bus doors open.
The first thing that Baekhyun notices is that he’s standing at the border of two completely different worlds. Behind him is the forest from which the bus has just emerged from. The mist is still so dense that he can barely see past two or three rows of deep, dark foliage.
Ahead, is something completely new.
The sun shines brightly here, but the rays don’t scorch along Baekhyun’s skin. There’s a soft cool breeze and the sound of bells chiming in the wind. Baekhyun closes his eyes and inhales. He can smell a sort of refreshing dampness in the air, not quite with the salty tang of saltwater. His eyes flutter back open.
There’s a river or a lake, some body of water so big and wide that Baekhyun can’t see where it ends. Most of the water, however, is concealed by a set of walls and buildings that stretch out from the enclosure. The buildings that peek over the brick walls are brightly colored, tiles adorning the facades and deep jade glazed stone fixtures dangling from the rooftops and framing the windows. There is no glass in the windows, just open air. It gleams of antiquity.
There are sloping roofs, green and red tiled curved concave up, painted such glamorous colors that Baekhyun is sure that it’s spring year round here. No amount of snow could cover the vivacity of this town. It looks like eternal life.
Baekhyun hears the bus sputter in the background but he’s too entranced by the swallows that swoop along the rooftops and how he can already hear laughter and he’s not even on the streets yet.
At last, Baekhyun glances back. The bus is gone and so is its driver. The mist is still there, fading away only inches beyond the forest. He wonders if the bus has driven back into the fog. He can’t imagine why anyone would ever want to. The air is so clear here.
Baekhyun walks forward, legs no longer tired, revitalized by the vivacity of life before him. Only a few steps until those colors are tangible. He thought those colors only came in acrylic paint tubes, it’s as if an artist squeezed paths of color across a blue sky. Everything is bright.
It feels as if he’s never truly walked before. All of the pent up exhaustion that accumulates throughout one’s lifetime has suddenly vanished. Each step is lighter than air as he makes his way to a broad, red arch in the walls of the city.
The walls stretch decently high, but not high enough to cover the splendor that is held within. Baekhyun can see the tops of buildings and through the open entranceway of the arch, he can see people running up and down stone streets. The gate has no door, it’s just an open archway. It seems to defeat the purpose of having walls.
He walks through the giant dome, glancing up at the bright crimson paint before looking forward again to face the beauty of this city he’s never seen before.
The color is so vivid, every last thing hits him with impact that he can barely register. Things that are traditionally beautiful, like the seashore or a cloudless day, are nothing now. The clear blue skies can’t help but weep at the feet of this village, so majestic, so great, it’s like comparing a child to a god.
Baekhyun continues forward. The bus man is long gone, the clown mask nowhere in sight. Baekhyun doesn’t know where he is, or what to do, but the town is so breathtaking that he can hardly remember anything else. If this sort of beauty exists, there is no reason to pursue anything else. This must be heaven.
He lets his feet guide him, one ratty sneaker in front of the other. They look dirty. They’re supposed to be blue, but they look gray against the brick streets.
There’s a tap on his shoulder and Baekhyun spins around.
It’s a… stranger?
The man is in a suit. Up close, Baekhyun can see the ironed seams in the stiff black fabric, he can see the cufflink on the left sleeve; it’s a small head of a white rooster, beak open and neck stretched to the sky. He’s wearing tinted sunglasses; Baekhyun cannot see his eyes. He seems so familiar.
The man says, “I’ll show you where to go.”
“Oh,” Baekhyun blinks twice, “Thanks.”
The man doesn’t say you’re welcome, doesn’t say that it’s nothing, there are no formalities; he just walks right past Byun Baekhyun as if they hadn’t talked at all. Baekhyun realizes that he expects Baekhyun to follow.
He walks as if he’s in a hurry. Baekhyun bumps his gait up double time to keep up.
He strides into an unassuming shop with fabric curtains covering the top half of the entrance. Baekhyun scampers after him, ducking under the curtains on his way in.
The man is already speaking to someone. An older woman, more than soft around the edges, back just a little bit hunched. Her gray hair is tucked into a white cloth, tied behind her left ear.
Baekhyun only catches a bit of what the man says.
“--Another one.”
The old woman glances at Baekhyun out of the corner of her eye.
“Is this your special one?” she looks back at the man.
Baekhyun does not hear a response.
The woman smiles and turns to take Baekhyun’s arm. Her skin is rough and cool against Baekhyun’s bicep.
“I’ll take him from here,” she says.
“Thank you,” the man bows his head and begins to retreat.
“See you soon?” the woman smiles.
“Hopefully not,” the man smiles back. There isn’t a drop of kindness in his face.
Then, he ducks his head under the entrance curtains and he’s gone.
Baekhyun lets his eyes linger on the space where the mystery man once was, but his attention is torn away by the pat of the old woman’s hand on his shoulder.
“You’re new here,” she says. It’s not a question. It’s not an observation either. It’s almost as if she’s giving directions.
Baekhyun nods his head once.
“Your name?”
He hesitates, but she’s waiting, “Byun Baekhyun.”
She smiles, eyes crinkling at the edges, “You will work here with me.”
“Work?”
“Yes,” she says patiently, “Work.”
“But… I don’t live here. I’m not from here.”
“Are you not?” the woman raises and eyebrow and rests her hands on her hips.
“No,” Baekhyun shakes his head, “I’m not! I have to go home and--”
“And who exactly is waiting for you at home? Where is home, exactly?”
Baekhyun opens his mouth to answer, but-- huh, that’s strange, he can’t seem to remember. Where was home? Who was home? Why does he need to get back so desperately?
The old woman smiles, “Exactly what I thought. Now, come with me to the back, I’ll show you how things work around here.”
Baekhyun hesitates, but finds he has no reason to lag, so he tags behind her. She leads him to the stockroom in the back. It’s small, no bigger than a large pantry. The walls are lined with rows upon rows of wooden shelves, all hammered into the wall a long time ago. The rusty nails are reinforced by newer ones, haphazardly wedged where they are needed.
“This is where we keep all the stock,” she waves her hand in the small space that she has. Her fingers graze several of the ceramic jars that are arranged on the shelves. They come in all shapes and sizes. Different liquids ooze through the lids. There are some that have crystals that have grown around the rims and there are some that have liquid tracks running down the walls and pooling into colorless puddles on the floor.
“What are all of these things?” Baekhyun wonders. Each jar is labeled with a number, scrawled onto the ceramic with black or red ink.
The old woman smiles her rickety smile, “Don’t worry about it honey.”
Baekhyun doesn’t ask questions.
She brushes a little dust off the top shelf. It glimmers in the air.
“You will get orders at the front desk out there and come back to the storage room to weigh out the ingredients. All orders will give the color and the number. You match it to the container.” She instructs, “You weigh the quantities out in little containers that are stacked over at the front desk. There’s a scale over there and the wheel reads the weight.”
Baekhyun nods along to her instructions. It all seems straightforward enough. His eyes keep darting to the containers lined up on the shelves. There’s one in the back that won’t stop moving. There’s a constant rattling of whatever is held within battling against the lid. The ceramic clatters against itself noisily.
There are some things back there,” the old woman smiles knowingly, “that are marked with a red lid on the containers. Those are too dangerous for you to handle, in which case you should call for me promptly by ringing that bell by the counter.”
Baekhyun follows the woman’s gaze to a small golden bell that’s attached to tide of one of the shelves. There a small, but worn rope dangling from it, obviously meant to be pulled whenever the bell is to be used.
“Other than that, the prices are written on the back of the abacus. It should be fairly simple.”
Baekhyun is still wondering why this is his new job, what incentive does he have to do this job?
“Your pay is room and board,” the woman tells him, patting his cheek, “I will feed you and give you an allowance to spend at the market as well.”
“Thank you,” Baekhyun responds out of reflex, utterly bewildered.
“It’s best…” The woman’s eyes meet Baekhyun’s gaze, “Not to wonder why you’re here. Answers will come in due time.”
Baekhyun bobs his head up and down as if his neck was some sort of pendulum.
“Excellent,” the woman smiles, rubbing her palms together, “I will trust the shop to you for now. Old women like me need to take a little rest. My back has really been feeling the hard hours!”
There’s a sparkle in her eyes as she trots off through another open doorway, one that presumably leads to the home in which Baekhyun will be staying.
Baekhyun is at loss as to what he should do. He’s not from here, he doesn’t know anybody here, yet suddenly he’s got a job to do and a place to stay. He does not know why or how he made it here, but the most pressing matter is that he can’t seem to recall where he got here from.
He ends up scuttling behind the counter at the sound of a customer, immediately manning his position by that golden bell. He surveys the things in front of him. There’s an old abacus and a box tucked into an opening under the surface of the counter. He lifts the lid of the box to find different shades of coins organized into little wooden compartments.
There isn’t much else other than the box and the abacus. There’s a scale hanging from the ceiling on the side opposite of the bell and the shelves behind him are stocked with dozens and dozens of large cylindrical jars. Each jar is filled with a different sort of sweet. There are normal sorts, lollipops and bonbons, but there are others that look completely alien. There’s one that legitimately looks like it’s filled to the brim with red, jelly cockroaches.
The person who has arrived is a woman. She’s wearing a simple dress made of red velvet that falls into pleats just around her knees. Her black hair is tucked neatly behind her ears and she carries a basket on her elbow.
“Hello,” Baekhyun greets nervously. He hadn’t exactly expected someone to come in so soon, at least not before he decided whether or not he had reason to do this job. He has to do it for now, at least until he can make up his mind.
“Hello,” the woman ducks her head and walks up to the counter, pulling something from her basket and placing it on the surface between the two of them. She uses her palm to flatten out the sheet of paper before pushing it closer to Baekhyun. She meets his gaze and ducks her head once, as if to tell him that the paper is for him.
Baekhyun squints and lifts the pale yellow sheet closer to his eyes. The orders are much like what the old woman had told him. Baekhyun nods reassuringly to the woman and takes the paper with him to the back.
Baekhyun follows the instructions and ladles out four units of purple powder from a stout white container labeled 12 in red marker, then portions out two yellow cubes from a container labeled with a big, black, fat 6. He finds little burlap pouches hanging by a nail on the doorframe to the back room, so he pours the two separate substances into individual bags, pulling the drawstring to shut them.
He pulls out the abacus, scans the edges for the respective prices, and then puts the pouches on the counter as he calculates the numbers in his head.
“Two?” he tries, assuming that the coins increase by factors of ten.
“Two of which?” the woman purses her lips.
“Silver?” Baekhyun tries.
She shrugs and lifts her basket to pull out two silver coins. The two of them exchange and she bows slightly before leaving the shop.
Once the woman has left, Baekhyun lifts the abacus and squints at the scrawls on the sides, trying to make sure that he hasn’t just under or overcharged.
“You did it right,” a voice pipes up from behind him. Baekhyun nearly jumps in surprise.
It’s the sunglasses man again. He’s back, voice just deep enough that it leaves a tingle in Baekhyun’s toes.
“How do you--”
“It goes from bronze to silver to gold,” the man ignores Baekhyun entirely, “ten makes ten makes ten. It’s simple enough, yeah?”
“Yeah,” Baekhyun agrees reluctantly, “Hey, do you know why I have to do this job?”
“Because it’s your job,” the man says matter of factly.
“But why is it my job?” Baekhyun’s eyebrows furrow, “I want to know why I’m here.”
The man’s face settles into a frown.
“Do you have answers?”
“It’s best at this stage to ask questions,” the man says shortly.
“But--”
“You will answer them in due time.”
“Can you at least tell me where I came from? I know I should remember, but I just-- I-- I forget.”
The sunglasses man stands still for a moment, opaque black lenses faced in Baekhyun’s direction. It occurs to Baekhyun that he can never be sure that the man is looking at him because he has never seen his eyes.
“No one will miss you at home,” he says, “That’s all you need to know.”
Baekhyun stares.
The man taps his foot and sniffs, reaching into his suit pocket and procuring a little, faded yellow slip. He passes it to Baekhyun in between his index and middle finger of his right hand. Baekhyun gets a glimpse of the man’s cufflinks again. They’re truly beautiful, carved from a veined ivory.
Baekhyun takes the piece of paper hesitantly and unfolds it. There’s an order, much like the last. He glances at the man one more time before scurrying into the backroom to match the numbers to the ceramic containers.
Baekhyun’s eyes scan up and down, back and forth. Just as his eyes match the red eleven and black twenty one to their respective jars, he hears the sunglasses man call out from the front, “You’re going to need to ring the bell for this one.”
Baekhyun’s eyes settle on a jar that has purple goo oozing from the crack under the lid, settled two down from a jar that is literally bolted shut.
“Oh,” Baekhyun realizes, immediately backing away and hurrying to ring the bell for the older woman to help him. He can practically feel the other man’s gaze boring into his back, tracing patterns down his spine.
The bell chimes loudly and it isn’t but a minute before the old woman is there, with the man’s order all wrapped up and in a bag.
“Here you go darling,” she smiles at the sunglasses man, “Don’t worry about the money, I’ll keep it down for you.”
“Thank you,” he bows shallowly, taking the package from her with two hands.
He strides out of the shop, all long black legs and proper posture. Baekhyun’s gaze can’t help but trail in his shadows.
Baekhyun bites back the questions he has and thanks the woman for her help. There’s a certain finality to the strange man’s words. He’s almost-- scared, to ask questions.
He manages to keep his questions at bay until the sun sinks below the hills and the old woman returns to announce that it’s closing time. Everything seems to move with such composure and unperturbed tranquility it’s as if living itself grows graceful with time.
The world spins with bated breath.
The old woman acts towards Baekhyun much like a grandmother would. There’s a sense of familiarity and something akin to maternal care, but at an arm’s length. Whether the distance is caused by generation gap, or by something else entirely, Baekhyun doesn’t feel quite at home, but he gets the sense that this is probably the closest he will get to comfort here.
“You can call me Kami,” the woman tells him as she guides him from the shop to her little home. Everything is traditional, with bamboo panels and woven bamboo mats. Baekhyun kneels at a shallow table, bowing his head gratefully when Kami returns with a bowl of rice in a blue and white ceramic bowl.
She hobbles back and forth bringing dishes to the table, lying out a silver fish on a bed of shredded lettuce and plopping smaller plates with steamed and sauteed greens all around the main tray. It’s a feast for what seems to be only the two of them.
Kami smiles at Baekhyun and nods, encouraging him to tuck in.
He does, but only after she takes the first bite.
They eat in silence for a long while until Baekhyun takes it upon him to break the silence with idle conversation.
“The weather here,” Baekhyun coughs lightly, “Is it nice?”
“Generally, yes,” Kami replies, “When there’s a storm it’s heavy, but they don’t come often.”
“Does it get cold in the winter?” Baekhyun asks idly, pouring soy sauce into his rice.
“There is no winter here.”
Baekhyun looks at Kami with questions in his eyes, but even if she has answers, it’s clear that she will not give him even a drop.
“Don’t ask too many questions,” she says sternly when she stands to put her empty dish away, “You must find the answers yourself. They will come.”
÷
The next week bids a trip to the town market. Baekhyun wakes before the sun opens its bright red eye. Sleep doesn’t linger, it’s barely there, lost hours that come with little meaning. Baekhyun does not dream.
The village is not small, but is not big either. It’s just quaint enough that Baekhyun knows his way around now. It’s just big enough that he’s sure he will never get bored.
The market is by the sea. Every day, in encompasses four or five blocks of town, open from sunrise until sunset. It’s very much the center of all town activity. There is always something happening.
Baekhyun is unsure of where the wares come from, but the stalls and shops offer everything one could possibly think of. Carrots red and thick, almost the size of Baekhyun’s forearm, red cabbage that is such a vivid purple that the color sears into the forefront of Baekhyun’s mind for days. There are delicate teapots and intricate woven blankets, furry animals for pets and carefully carved figurines for home decoration.
Baekhyun is here with a list for onions, potatoes, carrots, and bean paste. The items are not hard to find, all of them readily available at the stall that Kami had explicitly directed Baekhyun to. He fetches a clear bag and picks out three onions and a small bag of bean paste. He hobbles over to the other side of the stand and rolls four potatoes into the sack, then stands on his tip toes to reach and feel some of the carrots hanging from the awning.
Someone else’s hand beats him to the heaviest one.
There’s a moment of hesitation before Baekhyun whips his head around. He’s not sure why he does it, it’s not as if he’s going to fight aggressively for a particularly bulbous looking carrot. But what he sees stuns him into silence.
It’s only been a week, but Baekhyun has entirely forgotten the details of how he got here. Now, he’s looking the clown mask right in the face and it all comes rushing back, the murky forest, the decrepit bus, and the journey to a world that was not his own.
Yet, it only goes back so far. The mask moves slowly, lips curling up and cheeks lifting into a manufactured looking smile.
“Hello Byun Baekhyun,” The clown mask rumbles. Baekhyun stiffens. The voice is familiar. He can’t quite put his finger on it, but he’s heard it somewhere else too. It’s--
“Ah, hello,” Baekhyun bows slightly.
“Nice seeing you again,” The clown chuckles. He yanks the carrot from it’s place hanging on the string and uses his other hand to flip the shopkeeper a coin. The clown dips his head in thanks to the shopkeeper and turns away.
“Again?” Baekhyun whispers to himself, eyes following the man as he walks away, shined shoes tapping against the cement.
Children run by, bumping into Baekhyun on their way. He catches himself against the pillar of the vegetable stand and tries to refocus his gaze on the clown man.
He is gone.
Baekhyun falls silent, slowly pulling himself back upright. It isn’t until the shopkeeper taps him on the shoulder and offers him a carrot before he snaps himself out of his daze.
“This carrot is just as good,” the man smiles.
“Ah, yes,” Baekhyun pulls a coin from his pocket, “Thank you.”
He checks his list. That’s everything.
÷
It takes about a week of adapting before Baekhyun is quicker than Kami at calculating the prices in his head. His job becomes menial and his mind wanders. He forms stories in his head about every customer that enters and leaves. Imagination wanders.
Eventually, he wears his own thoughts out, and customers become regulars. He stops building tales on his own and instead extends a question to ask for the truth.
“What’s your name?” He says while counting out change.
There is always a pause, but there’s also always an answer.
A name, it seems, is a gateway to intertwining fairytales. Some people are willing to lay out their entire lives on the counter, pointing out the knots in the woven work. Others are hesitant, only allowing snippets to offer a peek into their own heads.
There’s one man who gives Baekhyun nothing.
It’s almost ironic that the very first man that Baekhyun meets is the one he’s the least familiar with.
Sunglasses man comes in often, but his orders always require Baekhyun to ring the bell for Kami. She always rings the customer up and bows when he leaves. Baekhyun never gets the chance to ask any questions, but it’s not as if he doesn’t feel the man’s gaze on him while they’re in the store. He can never be sure, but he has a feeling that the man looks at Baekhyun far more than he does at Kami.
One day, over a dinner of roasted pork, Baekhyun rests his chopstick on the rim of his bowl and clears his throat.
“That guy, with the sunglasses, the one that comes in all the time. What’s his name?”
Kami raises an eyebrow. She has answers, but at this point, Baekhyun doesn’t expect her to give him any.
“His name is Chanyeol,” she says.
Baekhyun is so surprised that she responds with something other than her enigmatic “don’t ask questions” that he drops his fork with a clatter.
There’s an element of shock, bordering on alarm, at the sound. Kami’s shoulders stiffen and her eyes widen, lips poised to say something.
“Sorry, sorry,” Baekhyun apologizes quickly.
Kami seems to relax, “Why do you ask?”
“Just curious,” Baekhyun says honestly, shoveling a spoonful of rice into his mouth.
“I see,” Kami says calmly.
“I feel like I’ve seen him before,” Baekhyun shrugs, “I mean, other than the first time I met him.”
“Is that so?” Kami places her empty bowl onto one of the serving plates.
“He’s--” Baekhyun frowns, “What’s his job?”
“What do you mean?”
“Like how I help out in the shop. What does he do? Everyone here has a job, right?”
Kami seems to relax, resting her chin on the open palm of her hand, elbow against the table, “He drives the bus.”
“The bus as in--”
“The bus you took here.”
“Oh,” Baekhyun blinks quickly, thoughts stretching back the the creepy, long-legged clown man who had brought him to this bright world. The images flutter back and forth in his head, sunglasses superimposed on a clown mask. Everything else is a carbon copy.
“Are you interested?” Kami asks, raising an eyebrow.
“Not particularly,” Baekhyun shrugs, shoulders slumping, “I don’t know many people here, but most jobs are pretty standard. People sell stuff or trade stuff and sometimes people build stuff, but Mr. Chanyeol drives a bus. I find that strange.”
“Well,” Kami sighs, smiling, “He’s special.”
“If he drives a bus,” Baekhyun frowns, “Why does he always come in here buying such bizarre things?”
Kami chuckles, “Stop asking questions. Find your own answers.”
÷
Kami constantly eggs Baekhyun to go out and discover solutions to his own problems, and so far, Baekhyun hasn’t taken her advice into anything further than surface level.
But the next morning, Baekhyun wakes before dawn, thin layer of perspiration causing his sheets to adhere to his skin. A restless night of sleep, a stranger to him since he’s come to this town. The feeling disturbs him, and Baekhyun does not hesitate to dress and leave the shop. He pauses at the storefront for a moment, unsure as to whether he should turn right, towards the dock and the sea, or turn left, to the forest.
Everything in the town is built leaning towards the sea, like a plant stretching to sunlight. The marketplace is just against the shore, and the most prestigious, important buildings all encircles around the dock upon which the ferry lowers its anchor.
Baekhyun has turned right many times. Everything that is worth seeing is to the right. But this time, there’s an urge for something new, for something unusual. Baekhyun lets his feet turn left, he lets them take him to the forest.
The distance from Kami’s shop to the edges of the forest is quite small. She lives on the outskirts of the city. Baekhyun reaches the gates in no time at all.
It hasn’t been that long since Baekhyun first arrived, but the memory of the fog drenched woods is buried so far back in his mind that it may as well have been a century since he’s last been here.
There’s a bench and a blue bus stop sign. The sign has words printed on it, but it seems the message has long since been eroded away. Baekhyun cannot make out what it says.
The sun has not yet risen. It’s already difficult to look into the forest because of the fog, the darkness makes it worse.
Baekhyun is at a loss. He does not want to enter the forest, but there’s something within him that’s telling him not to go back.
He sighs and walks over to the bench, settling down on the edge of it. He decides that perhaps he should wait.
Sometimes, time and patience bring answers.
Baekhyun slouches in his seat, letting the weight of his spine press against the cool metal of the bench. It’s quiet, but not silent. There’s the soft sound of birds cawing in the distance, as well as the rustling of leaves, but other than that, Baekhyun can pick up nothing.
Then, there’s a soft rumbling in the distance, a sound oddly mechanical against the backdrop of wilderness. The feeling is familiar, but it isn’t until the old, faded blue vehicle comes into Baekhyun’s line of vision, that he remembers.
The bus is here. It screeches to a stop just next to the blue sign.
It’s eons before the door creaks open, and it’s ages before a lost looking woman comes tottering off of the bus.
She looks… Grey. Baekhyun can’t think of any other way to describe it. There are bags under her eyes and her skin seems paper thin. She’s young; her skin has no wrinkles. She’s quite pretty, her hair curls to frame her face, but somehow, to Baekhyun, she looks repulsive.
She looks as if all the beauty and color has been sucked out of her body. Even the dead leaves at her feet have more vigor. Her arms are dangling, limp, on her sides, and her expression is blank until her eyes focus and her mouth falls open in wonder.
Baekhyun knows that she’s looking at the city. He knows, because he remembers that he did much the same. He watches without moving as she runs past him through the town gates, completely absorbed in the amount of life this place has to offer.
He waits until the woman’s footsteps are hardly audible. The bus doors are still open.
At last, shined black shoes appear on the ground, long legs and long arms following after. The clown man, Mr. Chanyeol, climbs out of the bus and the doors shut behind him. He looks at the sky, head tilted upwards and arms at his sides,before he slowly reaches his left hand up, clasps it onto the center of his face, and pulls.
The mask comes off like a second layer of skin, like every centimeter of it is trying to cling to Mr. Chanyeol’s real face as if they’re glued together. When the last bit finally peels off, Baekhyun gets a first look at the man behind the mask and the man behind the glasses.
He’s handsome. Baekhyun could have figured as much from the facial features even with sunglasses, but his eyes just add to the picture.
Finally, Mr. Chanyeol turns to meet Baekhyun’s gaze.
It’s a momentary meeting of gazes before Mr. Chanyeol’s eyes flash away. Baekhyun watches wordlessly as he lifts his right hand, snaps his fingers, and the crickety old bus vanishes as if sucked away by tendrils of the fog.
Then, Mr. Chanyeol, the clown man, the sunglasses man, walks right past Baekhyun, not sparing him another glance.
Baekhyun holds his breath and watches as the figure retreats.
Then, Baekhyun is alone, and the feeling of expectation is gone. He doesn’t want to stay here by the creepy forest. He wants to go home.
He heads back to the shop. It should open soon.
One | Two
Author: Anonymous until 1/30/14
For: for_you_i_am
Pairing: Baekhyun/Chanyeol, semi!Baekhyun-centric
Word Count: 15,400
Summary: Baekhyun goes searching for someone important and finds himself on a bus that takes him into a future that leads back to the past.
Warnings: implied!suicide, semi!characterdeath, implied!depression
Rating: PG-13
One
In Baekhyun’s first moments, he’s cracking an egg over a bowl of freshly steamed rice. A bright orange yolk is drowned in exactly three tablespoons of soy sauce. Chopsticks dive into the center and everything mixes together.
He has a resolution, especially today.
He's going to find him. No matter what.
He's going to bring him home.
Baekhyun is skipping classes today. Its not as if missing a couple lectures will actually do any damage, and since high school graduation, his parents don't give him flack for anything.
He has one bowl of rice, piping hot enough to steam the egg. One cup of roasted green tea, purchased from their next door neighbor, and then Baekhyun quickly rinses his dishes. Then, he puts them in the drying rack.
He slings his backpack over his shoulder just as his mother is coming down the stairs. He pauses to glance back at her.
"Sometimes I wonder if we should have let you dorm with your friends," she hums. Her hair is a mess and she's in her berry red bathrobe. "Maybe you would have more fun."
Baekhyun smiles weakly, but reassuringly, "It was for the money, and dorm life isn't for everybody. This way I never miss home."
Baekhyun's mother just sighs, "I don't think I'm ever going to be quite ready to let you go."
Baekhyun laughs as he yanks on his sneakers. He takes a couple steps out of his path to pat his mother on the head. She seems so small and frail compared to before.
"Have a good day in class."
Baekhyun kisses her on the cheek, walks out the door, and shuts it behind him.
The walk to the forest is slow. He does not rush, just one foot in front of the other, carefully bringing him to his final destination.
There are gates surrounding everything. Seven feet of fence, topped off with swirls of barbed wire. There’s contrast between the rigidity of the metal against the old trees held within, stretching up into the sky.
There are pamphlets and a plaque explaining the forest. There are warnings and phone numbers plastered onto the corkboard right by the path.
Baekhyun ignores it all, adjusts the bag on his shoulders, and walks right through the open gate.
There is no other option.
There’s a clear path that visitors are meant to follow, but this forest, although surrounded by civilization, is an island of genuine wilderness. The path only goes so far before things start becoming less clear cut.
The paths begin to branch off, offering options, and no matter which one Baekhyun decides to take, every single one feathers off into a much narrower dirt track.
He has a map in his backpack, but things are already so muddled that he knows instructions won’t take him anywhere.
Then, the fog settles in.
He staggers forward, following the small path of stepped on greenery, the closest option to a designated walkway.
He can’t turn around now.
He came here with a purpose. Baekhyun is determined to find him, no matter at what cost. He’s scared, the fear clouds more and more as the fog thickens.
There are no guarantees that he’s here, Baekhyun knows that, but his gut insists that he must be here. He couldn’t be anywhere else.
He staggers on and on, dodging rocks and hoping over fallen trees, grown over with moss and harvested upon by animals and insects, creeping and crawling on the forest floor.
He’s tired, he needs to rest, if not for a moment, but something in his head tells him that if he stops, he’s not going to start again.
Then, he stumbles, tripping over something he couldn’t see in the dim forest light. He staggers forward, head crashing to the ground first, hands too slow to cushion his fall.
Baekhyun’s ears ring as he tries to pull himself onto his knees. His vision isn’t steady, rocking back and forth like a pendulum, dark and fuzzy at the edges. He sucks in deep, calming breaths, trying to gain back his bearings. He tries to stay as still as possible until his vision steadies and his head stops pounding. It takes a long time, much longer than he anticipated, until he can think clearly again.
He gives himself a moment before he balances his palm against a nearby log and pulls himself up to his feet.
He begins walking again.
It’s like he’s walking on the floor of a murky pond. The fog is so dense that he can’t even see his own hand in front of him. He’s smothered by the lack of clarity. He would almost think he was drowning in water, but the air is so clean and cold that it practically cuts into his throat with each breath.
He continues stumbling forward, hands stretched out in front of him. He’s blinded by the mist, staggering on and on into the milky gray before him.
At last, he finds something.
There’s a blue circle, a something in a sea of nothing. Baekhyun walks towards it, fingers outstretched in its direction. The mist clears around the sign, a blue panel nailed to a metal pole, jammed deep into the ground. Baekhyun walks towards it, wrapping his fingers around the pole once he’s near enough. The metal is cold against his palm. The fog dissipates into wisps just around the sign, but is impossibly thick everywhere else.
Baekhyun glances up at the big blue dot nailed to the top. Upon closer inspection, the blue is outlined with a border of white, framing one word in big, bold letters.
WAIT
Wait? Baekhyun wonders. Wait for what?
But the blue sign is the only thing he can see in this ocean of nothing. The only sliver of sense rests in this one word, wait.
He could keep wandering, but he doesn’t know which way is forward and which way is back. He doesn’t remember which way he came from and he doesn’t remember why he has managed to wander this way anyway. He’s been walking so long. Why did he begin?
He listens to the sign. He waits. There’s no other option.
The air grows colder and colder and Baekhyun’s eyelids begin to droop. Then, he hears a soft sound in the background. It sounds like breathing at first, a soft inhale and a soft exhale. It sends chills dancing down Baekhyun’s spine.
The sound grows louder and Baekhyun realizes it’s more of a whistle and a chug, soft puffs of something that sounds like an engine in the distance slowly making its way closer.
He squints into the distance, but the fog is too thick, it’s almost as if nothing is there. His shoulders tense as the grinding sound of working machinery grows louder and more urgent. The harsh whistle rips its way through the mist.
Baekhyun leans back on his heels and is immediately grateful because the incoming object misses his nose by not even a centimeter. He sucks in a breath of surprise, but the air is thin and it’s almost as if he didn’t breathe at all.
The object is a bus, an old boxy frame with a wearing periwinkle on the bottom half, contrasted with a yellowing white coat of paint on the top half of the vehicle. It’s not like a city commuter bus. It’s small, like a halfway between a van and a truck. Baekhyun can’t see through the windows, they’re tinted with a layer of dust. He wonders if it’s dark inside.
The bus screeches to a stop, bumper aligned perfectly with the sign. Baekhyun steps back, tendrils of fog curling around him as he moves away slowly. His eyes never stray from the mysterious bus.
Then the door swings open.
There’s a silence and everything is still, then there’s the soft clack of footsteps and a figure appears in the doorframe.
The man in the bus is too big for it. He hunches his shoulders and bows his head just to head down the steps. He is all long limbs, suited in all black with a crisp black tie. It looks like he was born into the suit, shiny black boots peek out from underneath the trouser legs.
Something makes Baekhyun stop.
The man is wearing a mask. A clown mask, made out of something that looks like a mix between paper mache and leather. There are drooping purple rings around the eye holes, and sagging red lines around the mouth. Baekhyun is still as the pupils flick around.
Baekhyun is far back enough at this point that the fog should conceal him. He can really barely see the figure through the haze. He quietly scoots back, wondering if the clown man has spotted him.
“You,” the voice is deep and it runs chills up and down Baekhyun’s spine. The clown man isn’t looking at him, but Baekhyun doesn’t see anybody else there. His muscles stiffen, prepared to run. “Don’t bother running, you won’t be able to outrun me.”
Baekhyun stays completely silent, hoping that perhaps by some chance the man is not speaking to him. But the clown eyes focus on him and Baekhyun knows there’s no way he can hide now.
“You,” the clown man calls out, “Who are you?"
Baekhyun’s voice shakes, “My name is Baekhyun.”
The clown man walks up to him, all long strides and hunched shoulders, “Do you have bus fare?”
“Bus fare?”
“Do you?”
“What bus fare?” Baekhyun shivers as the clown man walks closer and closer.
“Let me see your hand,” the clown man says, now standing directly in front of Baekhyun. He holds a hand out, waiting for Baekhyun to place his hand in his.
“Why?”
The clown man doesn’t answer, just waits patiently with his palm extended.
Baekhyun reluctantly places the back of his hand against the clown man’s hand. The clown man’s hand is cold and dry.
The clown man uses his other hand to spread apart Baekhyun’s fingers, clenched into a fist. Baekhyun is surprised to find a silver coin hidden in his palm. The small silver disk is worn at the edges, and he can barely make out a bold “X” etched into the face of the coin.
“You do,” the clown man says.
Baekhyun says nothing as the clown man takes it from his palm.
“Come,” the clown man says, turning around and heading back up onto the bus.
“I don’t want to,” Baekhyun says out of reflex.
The clown man doesn’t even bother turning around, “Whatever you want.”
Baekhyun stays in his spot and watches the clown man board the bus, sitting down in the driver’s seat and crossing his endlessly long legs. The mask faces Baekhyun and the man waits expectantly.
At last, Baekhyun follows the clown man. He doesn’t know any other way out and he’s already paid the fare. Besides, the more he thinks about it, the less he can think of any alternative.
By the time Baekhyun is seated in the left side, third row, he can’t seem to remember anything except the bus and the clown man. He tries to peer out the window as the clown man pulls the lever and the bus door closes with a grinding screech, but there is too much dust and too much fog and all Baekhyun can see is a wash of pale, misty beige.
“Where does this bus go? How long will I be here?” Baekhyun asks.
The clown man snaps his fingers and the engine roars to life, then he steps on the gas and doesn’t answer Baekhyun’s questions.
Baekhyun considers repeating his questions, but it’s really only the two of them on the bus. There’s no way that the clown did not hear.
So Baekhyun lapses into silence. He sits quietly, left leg crossed over his knee, eyes focused ahead. He stares out of the windshield and wonders how the clown knows how to drive when all he can see is endless gray.
He begins to doze off, head lolling off to the side as he tries to keep his eyelids peeled back. The ride is so uneventful; there are no big hills, everything seems to be flat. He falls deeper and deeper into a daze, eventually bordering the line of consciousness and subconsciousness before he’s jerked awake by the sudden halt of the bus.
Baekhyun’s eyes flutter open. There is such a sudden burst of light that he immediately squints and blinks quickly to adjust.
The bus is stopped and there is now light streaming in through the windows. The clown man is sitting up front in the driver’s seat, head turned and neck craned so that his face is staring straight at Baekhyun. The clown’s lips are turned up into an eerie smile.
“We’ve arrived,” the clown says, voice deep enough to shake Baekhyun’s bones.
Baekhyun stares, unable to respond, and the clown stares right back.
“You may disembark,” the clown says. The words are emotionless.
Baekhyun stands up in one swift motion and nods quickly, hurrying off the bus as soon as the clown man extends an arm to pull the lever and swing the bus doors open.
The first thing that Baekhyun notices is that he’s standing at the border of two completely different worlds. Behind him is the forest from which the bus has just emerged from. The mist is still so dense that he can barely see past two or three rows of deep, dark foliage.
Ahead, is something completely new.
The sun shines brightly here, but the rays don’t scorch along Baekhyun’s skin. There’s a soft cool breeze and the sound of bells chiming in the wind. Baekhyun closes his eyes and inhales. He can smell a sort of refreshing dampness in the air, not quite with the salty tang of saltwater. His eyes flutter back open.
There’s a river or a lake, some body of water so big and wide that Baekhyun can’t see where it ends. Most of the water, however, is concealed by a set of walls and buildings that stretch out from the enclosure. The buildings that peek over the brick walls are brightly colored, tiles adorning the facades and deep jade glazed stone fixtures dangling from the rooftops and framing the windows. There is no glass in the windows, just open air. It gleams of antiquity.
There are sloping roofs, green and red tiled curved concave up, painted such glamorous colors that Baekhyun is sure that it’s spring year round here. No amount of snow could cover the vivacity of this town. It looks like eternal life.
Baekhyun hears the bus sputter in the background but he’s too entranced by the swallows that swoop along the rooftops and how he can already hear laughter and he’s not even on the streets yet.
At last, Baekhyun glances back. The bus is gone and so is its driver. The mist is still there, fading away only inches beyond the forest. He wonders if the bus has driven back into the fog. He can’t imagine why anyone would ever want to. The air is so clear here.
Baekhyun walks forward, legs no longer tired, revitalized by the vivacity of life before him. Only a few steps until those colors are tangible. He thought those colors only came in acrylic paint tubes, it’s as if an artist squeezed paths of color across a blue sky. Everything is bright.
It feels as if he’s never truly walked before. All of the pent up exhaustion that accumulates throughout one’s lifetime has suddenly vanished. Each step is lighter than air as he makes his way to a broad, red arch in the walls of the city.
The walls stretch decently high, but not high enough to cover the splendor that is held within. Baekhyun can see the tops of buildings and through the open entranceway of the arch, he can see people running up and down stone streets. The gate has no door, it’s just an open archway. It seems to defeat the purpose of having walls.
He walks through the giant dome, glancing up at the bright crimson paint before looking forward again to face the beauty of this city he’s never seen before.
The color is so vivid, every last thing hits him with impact that he can barely register. Things that are traditionally beautiful, like the seashore or a cloudless day, are nothing now. The clear blue skies can’t help but weep at the feet of this village, so majestic, so great, it’s like comparing a child to a god.
Baekhyun continues forward. The bus man is long gone, the clown mask nowhere in sight. Baekhyun doesn’t know where he is, or what to do, but the town is so breathtaking that he can hardly remember anything else. If this sort of beauty exists, there is no reason to pursue anything else. This must be heaven.
He lets his feet guide him, one ratty sneaker in front of the other. They look dirty. They’re supposed to be blue, but they look gray against the brick streets.
There’s a tap on his shoulder and Baekhyun spins around.
It’s a… stranger?
The man is in a suit. Up close, Baekhyun can see the ironed seams in the stiff black fabric, he can see the cufflink on the left sleeve; it’s a small head of a white rooster, beak open and neck stretched to the sky. He’s wearing tinted sunglasses; Baekhyun cannot see his eyes. He seems so familiar.
The man says, “I’ll show you where to go.”
“Oh,” Baekhyun blinks twice, “Thanks.”
The man doesn’t say you’re welcome, doesn’t say that it’s nothing, there are no formalities; he just walks right past Byun Baekhyun as if they hadn’t talked at all. Baekhyun realizes that he expects Baekhyun to follow.
He walks as if he’s in a hurry. Baekhyun bumps his gait up double time to keep up.
He strides into an unassuming shop with fabric curtains covering the top half of the entrance. Baekhyun scampers after him, ducking under the curtains on his way in.
The man is already speaking to someone. An older woman, more than soft around the edges, back just a little bit hunched. Her gray hair is tucked into a white cloth, tied behind her left ear.
Baekhyun only catches a bit of what the man says.
“--Another one.”
The old woman glances at Baekhyun out of the corner of her eye.
“Is this your special one?” she looks back at the man.
Baekhyun does not hear a response.
The woman smiles and turns to take Baekhyun’s arm. Her skin is rough and cool against Baekhyun’s bicep.
“I’ll take him from here,” she says.
“Thank you,” the man bows his head and begins to retreat.
“See you soon?” the woman smiles.
“Hopefully not,” the man smiles back. There isn’t a drop of kindness in his face.
Then, he ducks his head under the entrance curtains and he’s gone.
Baekhyun lets his eyes linger on the space where the mystery man once was, but his attention is torn away by the pat of the old woman’s hand on his shoulder.
“You’re new here,” she says. It’s not a question. It’s not an observation either. It’s almost as if she’s giving directions.
Baekhyun nods his head once.
“Your name?”
He hesitates, but she’s waiting, “Byun Baekhyun.”
She smiles, eyes crinkling at the edges, “You will work here with me.”
“Work?”
“Yes,” she says patiently, “Work.”
“But… I don’t live here. I’m not from here.”
“Are you not?” the woman raises and eyebrow and rests her hands on her hips.
“No,” Baekhyun shakes his head, “I’m not! I have to go home and--”
“And who exactly is waiting for you at home? Where is home, exactly?”
Baekhyun opens his mouth to answer, but-- huh, that’s strange, he can’t seem to remember. Where was home? Who was home? Why does he need to get back so desperately?
The old woman smiles, “Exactly what I thought. Now, come with me to the back, I’ll show you how things work around here.”
Baekhyun hesitates, but finds he has no reason to lag, so he tags behind her. She leads him to the stockroom in the back. It’s small, no bigger than a large pantry. The walls are lined with rows upon rows of wooden shelves, all hammered into the wall a long time ago. The rusty nails are reinforced by newer ones, haphazardly wedged where they are needed.
“This is where we keep all the stock,” she waves her hand in the small space that she has. Her fingers graze several of the ceramic jars that are arranged on the shelves. They come in all shapes and sizes. Different liquids ooze through the lids. There are some that have crystals that have grown around the rims and there are some that have liquid tracks running down the walls and pooling into colorless puddles on the floor.
“What are all of these things?” Baekhyun wonders. Each jar is labeled with a number, scrawled onto the ceramic with black or red ink.
The old woman smiles her rickety smile, “Don’t worry about it honey.”
Baekhyun doesn’t ask questions.
She brushes a little dust off the top shelf. It glimmers in the air.
“You will get orders at the front desk out there and come back to the storage room to weigh out the ingredients. All orders will give the color and the number. You match it to the container.” She instructs, “You weigh the quantities out in little containers that are stacked over at the front desk. There’s a scale over there and the wheel reads the weight.”
Baekhyun nods along to her instructions. It all seems straightforward enough. His eyes keep darting to the containers lined up on the shelves. There’s one in the back that won’t stop moving. There’s a constant rattling of whatever is held within battling against the lid. The ceramic clatters against itself noisily.
There are some things back there,” the old woman smiles knowingly, “that are marked with a red lid on the containers. Those are too dangerous for you to handle, in which case you should call for me promptly by ringing that bell by the counter.”
Baekhyun follows the woman’s gaze to a small golden bell that’s attached to tide of one of the shelves. There a small, but worn rope dangling from it, obviously meant to be pulled whenever the bell is to be used.
“Other than that, the prices are written on the back of the abacus. It should be fairly simple.”
Baekhyun is still wondering why this is his new job, what incentive does he have to do this job?
“Your pay is room and board,” the woman tells him, patting his cheek, “I will feed you and give you an allowance to spend at the market as well.”
“Thank you,” Baekhyun responds out of reflex, utterly bewildered.
“It’s best…” The woman’s eyes meet Baekhyun’s gaze, “Not to wonder why you’re here. Answers will come in due time.”
Baekhyun bobs his head up and down as if his neck was some sort of pendulum.
“Excellent,” the woman smiles, rubbing her palms together, “I will trust the shop to you for now. Old women like me need to take a little rest. My back has really been feeling the hard hours!”
There’s a sparkle in her eyes as she trots off through another open doorway, one that presumably leads to the home in which Baekhyun will be staying.
Baekhyun is at loss as to what he should do. He’s not from here, he doesn’t know anybody here, yet suddenly he’s got a job to do and a place to stay. He does not know why or how he made it here, but the most pressing matter is that he can’t seem to recall where he got here from.
He ends up scuttling behind the counter at the sound of a customer, immediately manning his position by that golden bell. He surveys the things in front of him. There’s an old abacus and a box tucked into an opening under the surface of the counter. He lifts the lid of the box to find different shades of coins organized into little wooden compartments.
There isn’t much else other than the box and the abacus. There’s a scale hanging from the ceiling on the side opposite of the bell and the shelves behind him are stocked with dozens and dozens of large cylindrical jars. Each jar is filled with a different sort of sweet. There are normal sorts, lollipops and bonbons, but there are others that look completely alien. There’s one that legitimately looks like it’s filled to the brim with red, jelly cockroaches.
The person who has arrived is a woman. She’s wearing a simple dress made of red velvet that falls into pleats just around her knees. Her black hair is tucked neatly behind her ears and she carries a basket on her elbow.
“Hello,” Baekhyun greets nervously. He hadn’t exactly expected someone to come in so soon, at least not before he decided whether or not he had reason to do this job. He has to do it for now, at least until he can make up his mind.
“Hello,” the woman ducks her head and walks up to the counter, pulling something from her basket and placing it on the surface between the two of them. She uses her palm to flatten out the sheet of paper before pushing it closer to Baekhyun. She meets his gaze and ducks her head once, as if to tell him that the paper is for him.
Baekhyun squints and lifts the pale yellow sheet closer to his eyes. The orders are much like what the old woman had told him. Baekhyun nods reassuringly to the woman and takes the paper with him to the back.
Baekhyun follows the instructions and ladles out four units of purple powder from a stout white container labeled 12 in red marker, then portions out two yellow cubes from a container labeled with a big, black, fat 6. He finds little burlap pouches hanging by a nail on the doorframe to the back room, so he pours the two separate substances into individual bags, pulling the drawstring to shut them.
He pulls out the abacus, scans the edges for the respective prices, and then puts the pouches on the counter as he calculates the numbers in his head.
“Two?” he tries, assuming that the coins increase by factors of ten.
“Two of which?” the woman purses her lips.
“Silver?” Baekhyun tries.
She shrugs and lifts her basket to pull out two silver coins. The two of them exchange and she bows slightly before leaving the shop.
Once the woman has left, Baekhyun lifts the abacus and squints at the scrawls on the sides, trying to make sure that he hasn’t just under or overcharged.
“You did it right,” a voice pipes up from behind him. Baekhyun nearly jumps in surprise.
It’s the sunglasses man again. He’s back, voice just deep enough that it leaves a tingle in Baekhyun’s toes.
“How do you--”
“It goes from bronze to silver to gold,” the man ignores Baekhyun entirely, “ten makes ten makes ten. It’s simple enough, yeah?”
“Yeah,” Baekhyun agrees reluctantly, “Hey, do you know why I have to do this job?”
“Because it’s your job,” the man says matter of factly.
“But why is it my job?” Baekhyun’s eyebrows furrow, “I want to know why I’m here.”
The man’s face settles into a frown.
“Do you have answers?”
“It’s best at this stage to ask questions,” the man says shortly.
“But--”
“You will answer them in due time.”
“Can you at least tell me where I came from? I know I should remember, but I just-- I-- I forget.”
The sunglasses man stands still for a moment, opaque black lenses faced in Baekhyun’s direction. It occurs to Baekhyun that he can never be sure that the man is looking at him because he has never seen his eyes.
“No one will miss you at home,” he says, “That’s all you need to know.”
Baekhyun stares.
The man taps his foot and sniffs, reaching into his suit pocket and procuring a little, faded yellow slip. He passes it to Baekhyun in between his index and middle finger of his right hand. Baekhyun gets a glimpse of the man’s cufflinks again. They’re truly beautiful, carved from a veined ivory.
Baekhyun takes the piece of paper hesitantly and unfolds it. There’s an order, much like the last. He glances at the man one more time before scurrying into the backroom to match the numbers to the ceramic containers.
Baekhyun’s eyes scan up and down, back and forth. Just as his eyes match the red eleven and black twenty one to their respective jars, he hears the sunglasses man call out from the front, “You’re going to need to ring the bell for this one.”
Baekhyun’s eyes settle on a jar that has purple goo oozing from the crack under the lid, settled two down from a jar that is literally bolted shut.
“Oh,” Baekhyun realizes, immediately backing away and hurrying to ring the bell for the older woman to help him. He can practically feel the other man’s gaze boring into his back, tracing patterns down his spine.
The bell chimes loudly and it isn’t but a minute before the old woman is there, with the man’s order all wrapped up and in a bag.
“Here you go darling,” she smiles at the sunglasses man, “Don’t worry about the money, I’ll keep it down for you.”
“Thank you,” he bows shallowly, taking the package from her with two hands.
He strides out of the shop, all long black legs and proper posture. Baekhyun’s gaze can’t help but trail in his shadows.
Baekhyun bites back the questions he has and thanks the woman for her help. There’s a certain finality to the strange man’s words. He’s almost-- scared, to ask questions.
He manages to keep his questions at bay until the sun sinks below the hills and the old woman returns to announce that it’s closing time. Everything seems to move with such composure and unperturbed tranquility it’s as if living itself grows graceful with time.
The world spins with bated breath.
The old woman acts towards Baekhyun much like a grandmother would. There’s a sense of familiarity and something akin to maternal care, but at an arm’s length. Whether the distance is caused by generation gap, or by something else entirely, Baekhyun doesn’t feel quite at home, but he gets the sense that this is probably the closest he will get to comfort here.
“You can call me Kami,” the woman tells him as she guides him from the shop to her little home. Everything is traditional, with bamboo panels and woven bamboo mats. Baekhyun kneels at a shallow table, bowing his head gratefully when Kami returns with a bowl of rice in a blue and white ceramic bowl.
She hobbles back and forth bringing dishes to the table, lying out a silver fish on a bed of shredded lettuce and plopping smaller plates with steamed and sauteed greens all around the main tray. It’s a feast for what seems to be only the two of them.
Kami smiles at Baekhyun and nods, encouraging him to tuck in.
He does, but only after she takes the first bite.
They eat in silence for a long while until Baekhyun takes it upon him to break the silence with idle conversation.
“The weather here,” Baekhyun coughs lightly, “Is it nice?”
“Generally, yes,” Kami replies, “When there’s a storm it’s heavy, but they don’t come often.”
“Does it get cold in the winter?” Baekhyun asks idly, pouring soy sauce into his rice.
“There is no winter here.”
Baekhyun looks at Kami with questions in his eyes, but even if she has answers, it’s clear that she will not give him even a drop.
“Don’t ask too many questions,” she says sternly when she stands to put her empty dish away, “You must find the answers yourself. They will come.”
÷
The next week bids a trip to the town market. Baekhyun wakes before the sun opens its bright red eye. Sleep doesn’t linger, it’s barely there, lost hours that come with little meaning. Baekhyun does not dream.
The village is not small, but is not big either. It’s just quaint enough that Baekhyun knows his way around now. It’s just big enough that he’s sure he will never get bored.
The market is by the sea. Every day, in encompasses four or five blocks of town, open from sunrise until sunset. It’s very much the center of all town activity. There is always something happening.
Baekhyun is unsure of where the wares come from, but the stalls and shops offer everything one could possibly think of. Carrots red and thick, almost the size of Baekhyun’s forearm, red cabbage that is such a vivid purple that the color sears into the forefront of Baekhyun’s mind for days. There are delicate teapots and intricate woven blankets, furry animals for pets and carefully carved figurines for home decoration.
Baekhyun is here with a list for onions, potatoes, carrots, and bean paste. The items are not hard to find, all of them readily available at the stall that Kami had explicitly directed Baekhyun to. He fetches a clear bag and picks out three onions and a small bag of bean paste. He hobbles over to the other side of the stand and rolls four potatoes into the sack, then stands on his tip toes to reach and feel some of the carrots hanging from the awning.
Someone else’s hand beats him to the heaviest one.
There’s a moment of hesitation before Baekhyun whips his head around. He’s not sure why he does it, it’s not as if he’s going to fight aggressively for a particularly bulbous looking carrot. But what he sees stuns him into silence.
It’s only been a week, but Baekhyun has entirely forgotten the details of how he got here. Now, he’s looking the clown mask right in the face and it all comes rushing back, the murky forest, the decrepit bus, and the journey to a world that was not his own.
Yet, it only goes back so far. The mask moves slowly, lips curling up and cheeks lifting into a manufactured looking smile.
“Hello Byun Baekhyun,” The clown mask rumbles. Baekhyun stiffens. The voice is familiar. He can’t quite put his finger on it, but he’s heard it somewhere else too. It’s--
“Ah, hello,” Baekhyun bows slightly.
“Nice seeing you again,” The clown chuckles. He yanks the carrot from it’s place hanging on the string and uses his other hand to flip the shopkeeper a coin. The clown dips his head in thanks to the shopkeeper and turns away.
“Again?” Baekhyun whispers to himself, eyes following the man as he walks away, shined shoes tapping against the cement.
Children run by, bumping into Baekhyun on their way. He catches himself against the pillar of the vegetable stand and tries to refocus his gaze on the clown man.
He is gone.
Baekhyun falls silent, slowly pulling himself back upright. It isn’t until the shopkeeper taps him on the shoulder and offers him a carrot before he snaps himself out of his daze.
“This carrot is just as good,” the man smiles.
“Ah, yes,” Baekhyun pulls a coin from his pocket, “Thank you.”
He checks his list. That’s everything.
÷
It takes about a week of adapting before Baekhyun is quicker than Kami at calculating the prices in his head. His job becomes menial and his mind wanders. He forms stories in his head about every customer that enters and leaves. Imagination wanders.
Eventually, he wears his own thoughts out, and customers become regulars. He stops building tales on his own and instead extends a question to ask for the truth.
“What’s your name?” He says while counting out change.
There is always a pause, but there’s also always an answer.
A name, it seems, is a gateway to intertwining fairytales. Some people are willing to lay out their entire lives on the counter, pointing out the knots in the woven work. Others are hesitant, only allowing snippets to offer a peek into their own heads.
There’s one man who gives Baekhyun nothing.
It’s almost ironic that the very first man that Baekhyun meets is the one he’s the least familiar with.
Sunglasses man comes in often, but his orders always require Baekhyun to ring the bell for Kami. She always rings the customer up and bows when he leaves. Baekhyun never gets the chance to ask any questions, but it’s not as if he doesn’t feel the man’s gaze on him while they’re in the store. He can never be sure, but he has a feeling that the man looks at Baekhyun far more than he does at Kami.
One day, over a dinner of roasted pork, Baekhyun rests his chopstick on the rim of his bowl and clears his throat.
“That guy, with the sunglasses, the one that comes in all the time. What’s his name?”
Kami raises an eyebrow. She has answers, but at this point, Baekhyun doesn’t expect her to give him any.
“His name is Chanyeol,” she says.
Baekhyun is so surprised that she responds with something other than her enigmatic “don’t ask questions” that he drops his fork with a clatter.
There’s an element of shock, bordering on alarm, at the sound. Kami’s shoulders stiffen and her eyes widen, lips poised to say something.
“Sorry, sorry,” Baekhyun apologizes quickly.
Kami seems to relax, “Why do you ask?”
“Just curious,” Baekhyun says honestly, shoveling a spoonful of rice into his mouth.
“I see,” Kami says calmly.
“I feel like I’ve seen him before,” Baekhyun shrugs, “I mean, other than the first time I met him.”
“Is that so?” Kami places her empty bowl onto one of the serving plates.
“He’s--” Baekhyun frowns, “What’s his job?”
“What do you mean?”
“Like how I help out in the shop. What does he do? Everyone here has a job, right?”
Kami seems to relax, resting her chin on the open palm of her hand, elbow against the table, “He drives the bus.”
“The bus as in--”
“The bus you took here.”
“Oh,” Baekhyun blinks quickly, thoughts stretching back the the creepy, long-legged clown man who had brought him to this bright world. The images flutter back and forth in his head, sunglasses superimposed on a clown mask. Everything else is a carbon copy.
“Are you interested?” Kami asks, raising an eyebrow.
“Not particularly,” Baekhyun shrugs, shoulders slumping, “I don’t know many people here, but most jobs are pretty standard. People sell stuff or trade stuff and sometimes people build stuff, but Mr. Chanyeol drives a bus. I find that strange.”
“Well,” Kami sighs, smiling, “He’s special.”
“If he drives a bus,” Baekhyun frowns, “Why does he always come in here buying such bizarre things?”
Kami chuckles, “Stop asking questions. Find your own answers.”
÷
Kami constantly eggs Baekhyun to go out and discover solutions to his own problems, and so far, Baekhyun hasn’t taken her advice into anything further than surface level.
But the next morning, Baekhyun wakes before dawn, thin layer of perspiration causing his sheets to adhere to his skin. A restless night of sleep, a stranger to him since he’s come to this town. The feeling disturbs him, and Baekhyun does not hesitate to dress and leave the shop. He pauses at the storefront for a moment, unsure as to whether he should turn right, towards the dock and the sea, or turn left, to the forest.
Everything in the town is built leaning towards the sea, like a plant stretching to sunlight. The marketplace is just against the shore, and the most prestigious, important buildings all encircles around the dock upon which the ferry lowers its anchor.
Baekhyun has turned right many times. Everything that is worth seeing is to the right. But this time, there’s an urge for something new, for something unusual. Baekhyun lets his feet turn left, he lets them take him to the forest.
The distance from Kami’s shop to the edges of the forest is quite small. She lives on the outskirts of the city. Baekhyun reaches the gates in no time at all.
It hasn’t been that long since Baekhyun first arrived, but the memory of the fog drenched woods is buried so far back in his mind that it may as well have been a century since he’s last been here.
There’s a bench and a blue bus stop sign. The sign has words printed on it, but it seems the message has long since been eroded away. Baekhyun cannot make out what it says.
The sun has not yet risen. It’s already difficult to look into the forest because of the fog, the darkness makes it worse.
Baekhyun is at a loss. He does not want to enter the forest, but there’s something within him that’s telling him not to go back.
He sighs and walks over to the bench, settling down on the edge of it. He decides that perhaps he should wait.
Sometimes, time and patience bring answers.
Baekhyun slouches in his seat, letting the weight of his spine press against the cool metal of the bench. It’s quiet, but not silent. There’s the soft sound of birds cawing in the distance, as well as the rustling of leaves, but other than that, Baekhyun can pick up nothing.
Then, there’s a soft rumbling in the distance, a sound oddly mechanical against the backdrop of wilderness. The feeling is familiar, but it isn’t until the old, faded blue vehicle comes into Baekhyun’s line of vision, that he remembers.
The bus is here. It screeches to a stop just next to the blue sign.
It’s eons before the door creaks open, and it’s ages before a lost looking woman comes tottering off of the bus.
She looks… Grey. Baekhyun can’t think of any other way to describe it. There are bags under her eyes and her skin seems paper thin. She’s young; her skin has no wrinkles. She’s quite pretty, her hair curls to frame her face, but somehow, to Baekhyun, she looks repulsive.
She looks as if all the beauty and color has been sucked out of her body. Even the dead leaves at her feet have more vigor. Her arms are dangling, limp, on her sides, and her expression is blank until her eyes focus and her mouth falls open in wonder.
Baekhyun knows that she’s looking at the city. He knows, because he remembers that he did much the same. He watches without moving as she runs past him through the town gates, completely absorbed in the amount of life this place has to offer.
He waits until the woman’s footsteps are hardly audible. The bus doors are still open.
At last, shined black shoes appear on the ground, long legs and long arms following after. The clown man, Mr. Chanyeol, climbs out of the bus and the doors shut behind him. He looks at the sky, head tilted upwards and arms at his sides,before he slowly reaches his left hand up, clasps it onto the center of his face, and pulls.
The mask comes off like a second layer of skin, like every centimeter of it is trying to cling to Mr. Chanyeol’s real face as if they’re glued together. When the last bit finally peels off, Baekhyun gets a first look at the man behind the mask and the man behind the glasses.
He’s handsome. Baekhyun could have figured as much from the facial features even with sunglasses, but his eyes just add to the picture.
Finally, Mr. Chanyeol turns to meet Baekhyun’s gaze.
It’s a momentary meeting of gazes before Mr. Chanyeol’s eyes flash away. Baekhyun watches wordlessly as he lifts his right hand, snaps his fingers, and the crickety old bus vanishes as if sucked away by tendrils of the fog.
Then, Mr. Chanyeol, the clown man, the sunglasses man, walks right past Baekhyun, not sparing him another glance.
Baekhyun holds his breath and watches as the figure retreats.
Then, Baekhyun is alone, and the feeling of expectation is gone. He doesn’t want to stay here by the creepy forest. He wants to go home.
He heads back to the shop. It should open soon.
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