“I don’t know what’s happening. I don’t know what’s going to happen, and I don’t know what we’re meant to be, but all I do know is that I don’t want to let go of you right now.”
“We only met an hour ago, but it feels like I’ve known you for all of my life.. 정말 혼란스럽다. 진짜 이게 뭔지 감이 안 오는데, 나는 네 만 있으면 다 돼. 네도 그렇게 느껴져? 나처럼 네도 이렇게 자포자기한거야?” A single tear slid down his cheek as he muttered the last words.
As Gwang Ho gently pulled away from their embrace, a whine of disapproval nearly escaped Young-Hwan, who surprisingly longed, childishly, for the indescribable warmth of the other. When their eyes met again, however, his look stopped his train of thought; a mesmerizing haze glossed over his chestnut irises, and in the soft glow of the early afternoon sunlight, they shimmered, quietly, with what seemed like ancient runes of past lives that had been inscribed on his soul. Past lives, he wondered, returning his gaze steadily.
It all seemed to somewhat click when he spoke, voice laced with uncertainty, but firm nonetheless: “우린 처음 만난거 아닌 것 같아.. 우린.. 운명으로 이 인생에 만나게 됐어.”
The suggestion of something so impossible, before, should have elicited a laughter of disbelief from the child of Hecate, even though he had entertained the idea himself - but the aching of incredible affection and hurt that persisted at his core made sure to let him know that this was no Shakespearean play: like a magnet, he was drawn to his words, a clarity so definite that there was no room left for doubt. And as soon as Gwang Ho quoted Apollo’s prophetic words, the last of the glass wall that circumscribed Young-Hwan shattered, disintegrating the arid life he spent away from this camp - from him - into insignificant little pieces. The Ancient Greek rang as loudly in his mind as it did in his ears: Meant to be one.
He repeated it again, mentally, feeling it sink deeper within him, settling perfectly into what he thought had been a gaping hole punched into him through the cruel means of fate. Now, he knew - he knew that, yes, this bleak emptiness had been fate’s doing, but it served such a significantly greater purpose. There was only one thing - one person - in this life who could mend him, and he was standing right in front of him.
Although he experienced a sense of wholeness in the presence of his counterpart, Young-Hwan also discerned pain; his soul rewiring itself to amalgamate the past and the present, consequently unleashing an overwhelming tide of mixed emotions. His eyes shut tightly, helplessly, as the temptation to stumble backwards was intense; but he resisted, absorbing every detail of the history they seemed to have shared for countless years. A thought unexpectedly arose in his mind in response to his efforts: And that’s all I’ve ever been able to do for you, Gwang Ho - even after all this time.
Young-Hwan fluttered his eyes back open at his own abrupt words. As he did so, a fresh streak of tears flowed silently down his cheeks, his heart unconsciously weeping for something he did not quite understand - not just yet. The moment he did so, Gwang Ho reached out to him with a welcoming hand, to which his own automatically reached in an instant, suddenly desperate to hold the other. However, he stopped just short of grabbing it, hesitation consuming him.
“...all I do know is that I don’t want to let go of you right now.”
His hand started shaking, but he flickered his gaze upwards, scrutinizing the other’s expression as he searched for… what was he looking for? Inadvertently sliding his hand into the other’s grasp, he felt the warmth encasing him once more.
“네도 그렇게 느껴져? 나처럼 네도 이렇게 자포자기한거야?”
Mindlessly - always mindlessly - Young-Hwan placed his other hand over the back of Gwang Ho’s, slowly gripping it tighter and tighter. When his eyes darted to the tear that escaped the other boy, he trained them fixedly on their entangled hands. The sorrow in his core swelled immeasurably, growing so heavy that the weight of it simply caused him to collapse onto the ground, knees stiffly hitting the ground with a dull thump, his position resembling that of a prayer.
Freely sobbing, Young-Hwan pressed his forehead against the small portion of Gwang Ho’s hand, letting out choked, miserable gasps as he attempted to pour out his words - a quiet wail drenched in pure anguish.
“아니야. 이게 다 내 탓이야... 미안해, 광호야. 내가 정말… 미안해.” It was as if the clock stopped ticking backwards, the rewinding of his memories, complete. He’d relived that day, the moment when he utterly failed to keep his promise, the most sacred thing that had bound the two boys together. Being able to feel the heat of the other in his hands mitigated some of his misery, but it also threatened to strengthen his recollection of it seeping away from his body as he cradled him in his arms.
“얼마나 너를 보고 싶었는데…!” Simply saying that he felt his heart tearing in two as he confessed was an understatement - even if he’d describe the sensation as Atlas burdening his shoulders with the crushing weight of the universe, it would never be enough.
“내 잘못이었어. 실수에도 불구하고, 그런 이기적인 소원을... 빌었어...” Young-Hwan was shouting at this point, his tormented voice resonating around them. The two had been born together, and in most lifetimes, died together - as the other had mentioned, they were inseparable by nature. Regardless of how happy they could have been in the majority of the lives they spent together, he could never forget the original reason why they were woven by the thread of fate - he would never allow himself to forget it.
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