Pairing: Kyungsoo / Jongin
With every step he takes, he feels the earth crumbling underneath his feet. That soft shaking before the cracked earth plates detach, crumbling into shimmering dust somewhere behind him. A slight motion like a last farewell. Silent and irreversibly final.What does the world's end look like? Can you see nothing? And if you can, what does it look like? He wants to know. But the fear of nothing is stronger than the curiosity. So he just walks. Without taking a look behind.
Every single sound gets choked by the hungry air and peters out tone by tone, not able to resonate in the melting scenery. Mumbled in absolute tranquillity, he walks up the stony stairs. They are lapsed and cold with a sheen of sleeping moss, mourning in silence for the stealthy loss of memory.
While feeling the stone breaking down mutely crying under his heels, he suddenly feels pity for them. He feels pity for everything he touches. For every place he goes. Everything that becomes nonexistent because of him.
I'm sorry, he says in his bittersweet voice, letting spring blossomed flowers wither in shame. Comforted by his beguiling voice, the handrail he is touching caringly splinters piece by dirty piece, mercilessly peeling off where his shy fingers touches the cold obsolete surface timidly, delivering it from its defiled past.
The fog has painted its obscure mystery on every building's wall, captivating the nearby clock tower in its eerie veil and granting the town to rest in fear. He can't see where he is going. The stubborn fog prevents the sight, concealing the silver lining. The stairs are used to lead deluded musers up the hill, presenting the most captivating view of the elapsing town below. But he was unsure if the view still exits. Or the hill. Or the town.
The sun is gone. And so are the birds. He fears the life on earth got pitilessly absorbed by the ruin, leaving nothing but nothing. How can the world exist without life? It is the world's end, he forgot.
Can you undo something final? And how do you create something nonexistent? His thought are contradictory. His mind a board game without brinks.
The earth is surely nothing unlimited. There will be an end which was once the start. But the start doesn't exist anymore. So when does he reach the limit? And what is the limit? He fears nothing.
He feels the humidity on his skin and the smell of forgotten rain seducing his nose. The bewildered autumn wind makes him feel chilly, tugging at his dark brown hair; desperately trying to prevent the pretty destroyer from moving forward. But even the idle winter couldn't hold him back. Neither the inattentive spring nor the naive summer.
Time means nothing. Because nothing owns the time. So he just walks up the stairs. Timelessly.
Like a wildly swirling typhoon a young man dances in the middle of the hidden place. Every single move is likewise smooth and stormy like a capricious river. His warm breath artfully forms beautiful wafts of mist in the panorama of foggy darkness. His drops of sweat rain to the ground like tiny diamonds. Silently in motion, his expressive moves abate step by step until he faces the curious stranger.
I'm sorry. I didn't mean to interrupt you.
You didn't. I didn't expect someone to be up here right now.
Aren't you feeling cold?
No. My dancing keeps me warm. Who are you?
My name is Kyungsoo.
Tell me, Kyungsoo, what is this behind you?
I see. So may I have the pleasure of this last dance?
He fears the dancer could splinter the moment he touches his delectable dusky skin. He won't, right? He won't crumble like everyone else did, right? He seems intact and stable. And there is something in his smile. Warmth, comfort, shelter. Trust.
The moment his hand touches the dancer's gently, the air catches alight and the once timid wind starts to flail furiously, battling the oppressive fog in struggle for supremacy.
Both spin around on autumn's wings. Softly and gracefully. They don't know if they are dancing or floating or even flying. Together they walk on air. And nothing can't stop them.
With every passionate swing; with every sparking breeze they cause, the fog eschews huffily to the point where it releases the famous view of what was once a town.
The river is dried-out. The bridges destroyed. The nature lost. The few remaining buildings are completely demolished beyond recognition. The once impressive clock tower is atrociously corroded. Its spire disappeared. The last tremendous watch hand breaks away and crumbles into rusty dust, wafted by the tempest that walks abroad the empty streets. There is no sign of life. No sign of mercy. Nothing is alive in this town.
A pirouette. And another one. Both dance to the sound of bursting stones. Their hands are constantly intertwined. Their bodies entangled cautiously but passionately. An invisible ribbon of rubble dust ties them up, bonding them so that one can't let go of the other.
I could dance like this forever. But I guess, we can't. Why does everything has to be the last?
It's the end of the world. Everything you do for the first time will also be the last.
So can I kiss you one last time?
At any time.
With every tender kiss; every time their lips collide sensually and their breaths mingle; every time the dancer's tongue caresses the other's fondly, another malicious crack bites on to the platform, carving a morbid pattern of perilous fissures.
How do you make a moment endless in a world that ends? How can you be in a world that doesn't exist? Maybe life is just a flower burning down in the heat of a fleeting moment.