Saying Goodbye - A meeting of muses
One of the things about Kwon Jiyong that always confused people was that no matter how much he had lived through or how much he had been broken and put back together however many different ways, he was oftentimes a mixture of both strength and weakness. He knew how to fight, physically and mentally, and he knew how to stay resilient in the face of adversity, but he crumbled under the weight of such small things sometimes. Maybe that was his kryptonite: small, insignificant details. He was always willing to push further for the little things, sacrifice more for them. He was willing to stay in abusive relationships for the tiny moments of joy. He could figure out ways to push through mountains, but dig someone’s grave? He’d fall to pieces.
He couldn’t stop shaking just from just putting candles on a table. It seemed like such a simple task when he’d offered to do it before. Light candles. Prop up photo frames. Arrange them like so. Simple. Except his hands wouldn’t stop trembling and his eyes wouldn’t stop blurring and no matter who tried to comfort him or how many supportive texts he got, he couldn’t stop gasping for air. He was a fish out of water.
He didn’t handle these sorts of situations very well. When he was eleven, after his sister had gone missing, only his aunt had wanted a candlelight vigil. He’d never wanted to do anything like this, not for anyone. It was a funeral for the undead, a memorial for people who clung to a hope that should never be said, something that could never be confirmed. Will they ever come back? Is this really goodbye? What will happen to the rest of us now?
He would rather have been putting bullets in his head than candles on this table, decorating a shrine to a guy who’s smile was brighter than all this—this was practically an insult. Candles? These were too small. Jiyong wanted to pull the stars down and light up the entire hemisphere, something that would really show: Kang Daesung would be missed.
He hadn’t realized how hard he’d been crying until a hand rested on his shoulder, making him blink and look up. “Noona,” he sniffled. Kiko nodded, offering him a handkerchief. He pressed his lips together and nodded back to her, accepting the offering and stepping away from the shrine. Putting distance between him and the table felt like opening up his chest and losing his innards in the grass, but he knew he had to. Kiko was right, he had to move away, look away. His wet eyes were burning.
He let her lead him over to where everyone else was getting personal candles, something for them to hold, something to connect them to the shrine. Jiyong accepted his and watched the flame dance. He was a dragonblood, which gave him a unique connection to fire and made him a beacon of heat, but Daesung had always been light. Daesung was always the sun, constant and steady and bright, bright white. He could be blinding if you looked at him too close.
He stood next to Kiko, consciously aware that he should not lean on her or touch her at all. She was dressed in an all-white gown with a hood and long sleeves. She looked ethereal in the dimness but Jiyong knew better—she was nowhere near peaceful. Her face was calm and serene, a well-constructed mask, hiding whatever turmoil she didn’t want him or any of them to see. She was over 800 years old, so he was sure she’d seen a few funerals before. He wondered how affected she really was.
The first person to approach the shrine after Jiyong was an older man with a creased face and jet black hair. He had a little girl with him, her hair up in pigtails, who seemed to be struggling with the candle, trying not to burn herself. “Come on, Haru…” the man said gently, setting his candle on the table in front of one of the pictures of Daesung laughing hysterically. Once the little girl copied her daddy, they both took a step backwards and bowed 90 degrees to the shrine. The man stared at the table for just a little while longer, taking in the images, and then pulled away quickly.
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Jiyong turned his head when he heard quiet whispering, watched as a young man with brown hair stepped up and bowed to the shrine before leaning forward to see the photos better. He looked familiar and Jiyong recognized him from a few of the pictures he himself had set up on the table. Cho Kyuhyun. “Hey Daesungie,” the guy whispered. “Been a while. This really isn’t fair, you were supposed to stick around for my comeback, damn it. We were gonna be DaeKyu again, remember? Asshole.” He chuckled. “You’re really unfair. You still owe me like 5 bucks and a karaoke night, so hull ass back here soon… Night night, Brodie.” He set his candle down and turned away.
After that, a young girl came up to the table and there was a frailness about her, a tension, like she was constantly waiting for the proverbial ball to drop on her. There was something about her that looked so unfinished and Jiyong thought that if he were to draw her portrait, he would leave it half-finished, and it would be a tragedy. But she had kind eyes. She didn’t say anything but she left more than just her candle at the table. She took a necklace with a big heart medallion out of her pocket, letting it dangle for a minute before setting it down next to her candle.
Jiyong swallowed hard when the guy that he regarded as his little brother stepped up to the plate. Like the girl before him, he didn’t say anything, but he bowed and gently touched every picture as though he were blessing them. Knowing him though, it was more like he was trying to feel a connection to Daesung, like a dog picking up a scent.
“Are you going to go up?” Kiko asked and Jiyong turned towards her, only to realize she wasn’t talking to him. Her head was turned away, looking over at a taller, dark-haired boy standing on the other side of her. Jiyong hadn’t seen him before, not that that was surprising. There were quite a few people here that Jiyong didn’t know.
The guy looked at a loss for words, his eyes darting around nervously, before mumbling, “I didn’t really know him… I wouldn’t know what to say or do…”
Kiko seemed to understand that, nodding somberly and turning away. “Well… I am his successor, so I must pay my due like the rest.” She walked up to the shrine, the thudding of her heels muffled by the earth, and for a moment, Jiyong was fascinated by the dreamlike delicacy of her movements. It was probably some genie enchantment she had casted on herself though, so he shook himself out of it. “Daesnuggle,” she whispered to the shrine. “I knew you in your other form, the archangel version. I suppose that was something of your last reincarnation. I don’t want to meet your next. I liked this version. Go you safe and keep you safe, and come safe home to us.” She curtseyed slowly and placed her candle on the table.
Jiyong didn’t know if it was his turn or not. He didn’t know the procedure of these sorts of things. He didn’t know if it was over or if someone else would step up and pay respects to the missing person. Most of him hoped so, but if not, that would be okay too. Small gatherings were fine and he shouldn’t expect anyone else to come. But would they? Would anyone else say goodbye?
He smiled sadly to himself. Probably not. Still though… Everyone here and he himself got to say goodbye. That would be enough.
