As he drove, the land became dark once more.
That's the thing about November; daylight is unforgiving.
Throughout his existence, he went through many emotional phases about the facts of his life, rather, more to the point, his death: nonchalance, panic, acceptance, peace, loneliness, regret, weightlessness.
For seven years, he didn't think much about it. That night by the river, outside the hospital, it could've very easily been a dream. A hallucination, even, due to stress.
Then, he realized, that sometimes he would see the man. In a cafe, a bookstore, a crossing guard, a bus driver. A tall, lean young man with hair like a starless night. And in fifteen years, the man never aged.
He was not afraid, though, not nervous. Instead, he felt rather protected. Like some old friend knew the truth of his life. An angel or a demon, he did not know. Perhaps somewhere in between.
Only in the last two years, as he matured in knowledge and age, did he think about how exactly he wanted his life to be before the man came back to fetch him.
He never had dreams which he could point to when peers and elders asked, no grandiose ideals of good fortune, family, or fame. Even as a child, there were only vague careers in mind.
He wanted to help people; this, he knew. He would not have time to become a doctor or lawyer. He loved philosophy, but it didn't seem practical.
During university, he found an organization. They were handing out pamphlets, advertising for homeless relief services. He decided to apply, and, to his delight, he was offered the job.
There, he learned many things about the world, many things which would lace his mind with distress during nights alone. Layers upon layers of corruption and pain, injustice that pierced his heart and sickened him to the very soul of his core. He learned what humanity would endure.
He wanted to fall in love, but with every passing day that seemed unlikely. Until, of course, the unlikely happened.
He wanted to feel peace, and for a long while, he did.
He wanted to be compassionate and soft and open, but he learned that was a hard balance.
There was a word he read once: imperturbable. This is what he desired to be.
He wanted to be a good hyung and a good son. Two things he felt he never quite achieved. But his failings would be forgotten tomorrow, and he hoped that was okay.
YOU ARE READING
Twenty-Four Hours || k.hj
FanfictionHongjoong knew the moment he awoke; he that knew today was the day. His twenty four hours. °°° The body which had been his for over twenty five years suddenly seemed peculiar to use. Memories suffused his mind, memories he thought had been long lost...
