Neverending

1% - [prologue]

"See you tomorrow!"

He says goodbye in reply with a wave of his fingers to his coworkers as he departs, all the while slowly walking farther and farther away. It's not until the door is shut behind him and he's rounded the street corner does he finally drop the smile, let out the sigh, loosen his stiffened back. He likes the office just fine, but it's a place of social conduct and feigned composure. He doesn't have enough of those for another minute.

Kyungsoo loosens his tie as he boards the bus, flashing the driver his pass. He takes a seat somewhere in the back, away from prying eyes. The ride home is bumpy and slow, but he wouldn't like it any other way. Leaning his head against the cool glass, he watches the city fly by in a big blur of monotone colors and lights. Fatigue pounds against the back of his head in a relentless ache. A block away from his street, he makes a stop request.

His legs can't carry him fast enough to the door, and his hands won't cooperate with him and his keys. He fumbles and curses as the keys drop from his fingertips, but he manages to open the door anyway. Kyungsoo bursts through the door, checking the black watch on his wrist to make sure he still has enough time. He does.

After putting his bag down on the usual counter, Kyungsoo steps into the master bedroom down the hall and changes from his work clothes into his casual city clothes. The skinny jeans that have one too many little rips near his knees and calves, and his faded maroon hoodie -- his favorite one. How could Kyungsoo ever forget? His hand's on the doorknob before he realizes he's missed one thing. The bracelet. He dons the trinket and ties the leather knot with the help of his teeth as quickly as he can. The bracelet he had bought him. They had matching ones. 

Its pair is atop the nightstand.

Kyungsoo dashes out the apartment, barely managing to slip on his worn sneakers before he's out the door, locking it with no mistake this time. His first destination is down the street, so he figures he'll walk. He usually does anyway. There's no point in taking anything else there. Except maybe the bike. But he can't bear to.

"I'm here to pick up my order," he tells the lady behind the desk. The store's door bell clatters as he says this, having spoken the moment his foot had crossed the shop threshold. The lady hands him a bouquet of roses, violets, and forget-me-nots from one of the rooms in the back. A card is attached at the bottom. It must be an odd combination of flora, he thinks, but he likes it. Kyungsoo's favorite is the violets. His was the forget-me-nots. And the roses -- the roses had pulled them together. He hastily thanks her before leaving, dropping crumpled bills he'd pre-counted the night before from his pocket.

The rest of his short-lived journey on foot is lonely and quiet as the day settles into a restful evening. Winter is coming, he's aware, but how would he have known it would be this cold today? He huffs air onto his numb fingers to get the blood flowing, rubbing them against each other with the flowers balanced in the crook of his elbow. He's careful not to crush them.

A small breeze blows by and Kyungsoo gives it a message to deliver. "I'm coming," he whispers. "Almost there now. Wait a little bit."

He smiles because he's used to it now. 

The rusted gate swings open with the lightest of touches, and silence greets him as Kyungsoo makes his way down the dirt path. A small forest is to his right, and the darkness between those trees appears rather threatening, but he pays it no heed as he goes on his way. Nothing can throw him off right now. Not when he's here.

He passes by a few people, but in his peripheral vision, they are shadows. Mere shadows. Shadows that move and speak and maybe weep, but shadows nonetheless. In this moment, Kyungsoo himself is the only existence he knows.

Kyungsoo sees him in the distance, and he picks up his pace the tiniest bit. Just to get there a little faster. When Kyungsoo catches up to him, he hands him the bouquet, his heart dropping to a dull thud.

"I love you," Kyungsoo says softly; he always does.

He does not say it back.

Kyungsoo drops to his knees in front of the gravestone, placing the flowers delicately against the stone, against the carvings. It's strategic, the way he positions it, blocking his name. The letters are a weight in his stomach, still, to see it. All he sees now, between the thin stems of forget-me-nots is Kim J. He puts a heavy rock over the card so he can see it before the wind steals it. Maybe he's even reading it now. Kyungsoo hopes so.

"And I miss you," Kyungsoo blurts out, as if he'd forgotten to mention this. Sometimes he does. But on those days, he makes sure to run back and say it. It's important. It is. 

A single tear crawls down his cheek and drips from his chin to water the flowers, but he doesn't notice. Kyungsoo's already on his way out, biting down on his lip and clenching his fists, his heart and his head having taken too much already. They sky above grows overcast, a muddy grey, a mosaic of gloom, a mirror of his emotions. As the distance between them grows, Kyungsoo goes from a walk, to a jog, to a full out run. An escape.

He'll be back tomorrow.

In seconds, all that remains of Kyungsoo's visit to the graveyard are the shallow footsteps he had left behind, and the purchased flowers. Its perfume veils the atmosphere around his grave. The air tugs and tugs on the paper card, but it is to no avail. 

It reads: 

It's been one year now, hasn't it? We had no clue then. How could we? No one would ever have guessed it would be like this now. I hope you're well. Are you watching? Do you think of me? I wish you could come back. I won't forget you. I promise. I miss you.

Oh, yes. Kyungsoo will be back.

The graveyard is expecting him.