Chapter Text
I : XII
Day 1
As the late hours of the night approached, hence began the slow dance of the snowflakes, falling in soft cascades onto the drifts that had formed along the sidewalks. They glittered in the illumination of the streetlamps as they descended upon the land, plunging the neighborhood into a scenic atmosphere reminiscent of cheap snow globes that one could find within souvenir boutiques.
Not much could be heard beyond the silence that lingered heavy in the air, interrupted only by the occasional stray howl of wind that jostled loose tree branches and upset small icicles that had formed along its crooked lengths. The streets were almost entirely empty – courtesy of a yellow alert issued earlier in the day that had warned of possible hail overnight – not a single trace of life save for the silhouettes of two figures that lay sprawled across the side of the road, one looming over another, a look of worry etched onto his face.
"Sir?" Jimin was repeating, agitation obvious from the raised pitch of his voice. From what he could see, the stranger didn't appear to be hurt, but his face was stark-white – almost perfectly blending in with the snowy ground that he laid upon. "Are you alright? Can you hear me?"
At his voice, the man's eyes slowly blinked open, pupils blown wide as he took in his surroundings. Thick lashes fanned against soft cheeks as his eyes darted from one side to the other, eventually coming back to rest on Jimin's face, chapped lips falling open in a relieved sigh.
"Yuh–your hair," the young man slurred, struggling to get up into a seated position, and Jimin rushed to assist him. "'s black again."
Jimin's brows knotted together at the statement; not only was it a strange thing to say, but he couldn't remember having met the man before, nor did he recall ever dyeing his hair. Alarm bells rang in his mind as the possibility of a concussion finally occurred to him, and he cursed inwardly as he quickly felt for any lumps on the other's head. He didn't think either of them had been hit by the over-speeding car from moments earlier – the stranger had managed to pull him back in the nick of time – but it was entirely possible that he may have suffered some sort of a head injury from their impact with the ground, no matter how soft the snow that had cushioned their fall.
He patted down his pockets for his phone, letting out a string of curses once the screen blinked open, mocking him with its display.
No signal.
"Wait here, alright? I'm going to go get help." He wasn't sure how much of his words would be conveyed to the man who still looked mostly out of it, pale hair falling over his downturned face as he sat awkwardly propped up against a lamp post, chest heaving with alarmingly shallow breaths. He grimaced pitifully as he got up onto his feet, debating on whether to run till he reached the nearest convenience store or till he got more bars on his phone, which was when he felt it; a weak tug at the hem of his coat.
He looked back over his shoulder, surprised by the warmth that he could feel radiating from the fingers that clutched onto him. He reached behind to free himself from the stranger's grip, the words from earlier at the tip of his tongue when a hoarse voice gasped into the air, stopping him mid-syllable.
"Jimin—"
He froze.
Slowly, he turned around, watching as the hand on his coat limply fell back onto the snow. The man remained slumped over the lamp post, but his fingers twitched from where it lay on the ground, sliding a few pitiful inches to the side.
"Don't... leave. Stay." He appeared to struggle with his words a lot more than before, and Jimin hesitated, torn between the primal urges that told him to run and look for help, and another voice, a smaller one at the back of his head that told him to stay, to comply with the simple wish.
Making his decision, he crouched back onto the ground, tugging off his gloves as he reached out to push the man's hair back, revealing eyes that tiredly peered up at him from behind half-closed lids, anticipating his movements. The man's skin was flaming to the touch, eyes fluttering shut as he made a soft noise under his breath and nudged his cheek forward, seeking the coolness that Jimin had to offer.
"You're burning," Jimin whispered, bringing his free hand to the man's neck. A shiver ran through the other's shoulders, and Jimin shuffled forward, wrapping an arm around his waist as he pulled him in closer to his side. He should be looking for help, getting the man proper medical attention – not letting him pant over his neck in alarmingly shallow breaths. "Fuck, no, you're actually burning up, what should I— how do I—"
Blazing heat pressed over the hand that he still had cupping the man's face. It took him a moment to realize that it was the stranger's own hand, slim fingers curling around his. "'feels nice," the man rasped out, shifting in Jimin's hold. He rested his head on Jimin's shoulder, and Jimin shot him a sharp glance, startled by the sudden proximity of the other's face.
What he found, however, had his breath hitching in his throat.
Because unless his eyes were deceiving him, thin ribbons of gold were slowly materializing along the man's face, glowing in an unearthly manner as they danced against the pale contrast of his skin. They swirled around each other as they spread down to his neck, disappearing underneath the thick cotton shirt that he wore – only to re-materialize again as they tracked out of his sleeves and encircled his wrists, slithering all the way down to his fingertips.
"Your— your skin–" Jimin stammered, and the man finally raised his head, lids heavy as they slowly blinked open. With every flutter of his lashes, little fragments of gold dusted off into the air; joining the flakes of snow as they swirled in the wind before gradually falling around them.
The man stared at his hands for a long time, the silence between the two of them getting drawn out until a corner of his lips pulled up in a barely-there smile. "Time's up," the man muttered, apparently finding humor in his own words because he snorted, only to break off into a sudden coughing fit that had him shrinking into himself. Slowly, he shifted his weight off Jimin's side, swaying dangerously as he tried to sit up by himself.
Their eyes finally met; hazel brown meeting bright gold, startling with its intensity. Right before the stranger blinked, for but a fraction of a second, Jimin fancied that he saw something else in his eyes; the face of a clock, the hands nearing the twelfth hour with every tick around the pupil's perimeter.
"'s consequences," the man mumbled in explanation, a golden sheen slowly encasing his body. "Meddled with— there's... there's consequences."
The man sounded delirious, his words even more so; but Jimin found himself frozen in place, listening to every single word with apt attention.
The heat was pulsating off the man in tight waves now, flakes of snow sizzling in the blazing heat. Strangely enough, it didn't hurt Jimin; didn't make him feel anything beyond an uncomfortable warmth.
"'s okay," the man continued, lifting a glowing hand to cup Jimin's cheek. "'s okay, I'd–" He broke off into another fit of coughs that sounded painful to the ears, specks of gold tumbling out of his lips. Jimin leaned in just in time to catch him as he tipped forward, not an ounce of strength left in his body, almost featherlight in his arms.
Slowly, his coughs calmed down into raspy breaths, hands coming up to clutch at Jimin's shoulders. He was almost entirely in Jimin's lap now, the golden glow he emanated getting brighter with every passing second.
The back of his palm barely grazed Jimin's cheek as he whispered in a small croak, "I'd do it all again, y'know. Min-ah, Min-ah–" Jimin sat frozen, shocked into silence and as he watched, the man's hand began to crumble at the fingertips, giving away to become golden dust that slowly scattered into the air.
"'imin-ah," the man whispered, leaning forward to rest his forehead against his shoulder. "'s really... the last time, huh." Jimin couldn't move, couldn't budge, watching in muted horror as the stranger – a stranger, who appeared to know him on a first-name basis, who uttered his name with so much familiarity, who looked at him as if he put the very stars in the skies – withered away in his arms, slowly, at first, until his entire body collapsed in a heap of dust; until Jimin was left clutching at empty air, flakes of gold floating around him until they lost their glow as well, dissipating into the night.
The night suddenly became achingly cold, empty and bare without the presence of the warmth that the man had radiated.
Not a single trace was left of the events that had just unfolded; no signs apart from the imprints that his own body had left on the growing pile of snow. Nothing save for his own memories that could even propose if what he had just witnessed had been real.
He stood up on shaky feet, retrieving his gloves with quivering hands as he began walking back in the direction that he'd been taking before— before.
The snow picked up as the night progressed, gusts of wind becoming more and more prevalent, and Jimin hugged his arms tighter around himself, an automatic response to try to keep himself warm – though as he stumbled through the snow, struggling against the piles that slowly begun to build up, all that rang in his ears were echoes of the final words that had been slurred against his neck before they faded away into the night;
Jimin, Jimin-ah... I love you. Remind me of that, wuh-willl you? Dun-don't let me... don't give up on me.
'is important enough right now, right?
Jimin-ah, I'm sorry.
II : I
Day 39
The muffled sounds of classical piano rose from somewhere underneath the papers that were haphazardly strewn across the table, progressing with sudden escalations and lingering resonances that no doubt belonged to a fortepiano piece. It was accompanied by the sharp clicks of fingers tapping on a keyboard – an outdated gadget, with the keys protruding high up from the base, making them joggle as they over-enthusiastically popped back up from every downward press.
This didn't deter the man seated in front of the computer from typing out another long paragraph, narrowed eyes darting across the screen as he proofread what he'd been writing for the good half of the last thirty minutes.
Opening another tab where several samples were already drafted, he crosschecked if he had included all the required information for the proposal. It would be game-changing for the library if they managed to secure the deal with the distributor in question, especially now when they were aiming to expand their sadly limited range of facilities.
It was long past closing hours (which meant that it was less than an hour since he'd driven out the last of the seat warmers from the main area), and yet Jimin sat huddled behind his desk, round glasses precariously perched over the bridge of his nose as he squinted at what he had just written. Immersed in his own little world, he didn't notice when the door to his room opened, a man with a stringy mop of hair making his appearance through the opening.
"Hey Park, I'll be off now, yeah?"
His head shot up, brows furrowing momentarily before they relaxed in comprehension.
"Oh, yeah, what time is it? I didn't notice..."
He fumbled around the papers for his phone, wincing when the music hit the air at full volume. A hasty press of a button told him that it was already half past seven in the evening, and he grimaced. The part-time assistants had left quite a while back, but he hadn't thought it was this late.
"Yeah, let's—" he searched around the desk for the mouse, distractedly glancing back towards the doorway. "Yeah, you can leave, of course! Thank you for your work today, Kim."
"You too, Park. Oh!" The man nudged the door forward by a little. "The printer in S02 ought to work fine now. And I got rid of that tricky bug in our internal database, took a few tries but it's all good now. There's some new firewalls around our website too, I noticed that the old ones were a bit outdated, so..."
"You're a lifesaver, Kim," Jimin smiled earnestly, meaning every word. With the little funding they got, it was a miracle that they had managed to score such an efficient worker for the library's IT management – the salary had most definitely not been a selling point.
"Just doing my job," the other grinned, but his smile grew hesitant as his eyes ran over Jimin's desk. "You should – you should head out too, Park. The weather's been crazy unstable these days, 'member that yellow alert a few weeks back?"
Jimin heard the friendly concern in the other's voice, felt slightly regretful as he gently brushed it off. "Ah, yes. Don't worry, Kim, I'll be right out in a few minutes."
The technician looked awkward as he hovered at the doorway, shifting from one foot to the other before sending him a small smile and walking away. Jimin sighed, finishing up on the email and watching as the little number that momentarily hovered next to his outbox disappeared.
"There," he sighed into the empty room, leaning back on his chair. It had been another busy day at the library, though with two months already in, he should be plenty used to the constant hustle and bustle. With their absentee of a head director, almost everything fell upon Jimin's shoulders; which meant that he juggled the responsibilities of the director, the librarian, the cataloger, even the human resource manager—the place was horribly understaffed, and running on a budget as small as theirs, they could only afford to hire oh-so-many part-timers.
Groaning as he stretched in his chair, he slowly stood up, leaning down to shut down his computer for the night. A small cloud of dust gathered into the air as he tugged his coat off the storage boxes that cramped up his room, and he gave it a few shakes, grabbing his phone and his wallet off his table as he walked over to the door of his office. After turning off the lights and the heaters that were barely functional, he walked out into the small corridor, making sure all of the rooms were locked before he made towards the exit.
His coworker had been right; the first sprinkles of snow had already made their appearance, despite the weather forecast's reassurance that it would be a clear evening. He pulled his coat tighter around himself, already regretting leaving his scarf behind as his breath materialized in clouds of warm fog that intruded on the biting cold air.
His mind wandered back to Kim, a cheerful man who brightened up the atmosphere of their workplace by several degrees. They were of the same age—Jimin had noticed that while sorting out his personal file—and yet the other maintained a face of professionalism whenever they interacted, which left Jimin... oddly at crossroads. On one hand, he appreciated the respect that the other obviously held for him, but on the other, it felt slightly uncomfortable, almost out of place; though it was all on him for rejecting the several offers of friendship that the other constantly tried to extend to him.
It wasn't that he was pompous, or that he didn't believe in forming friendships with junior coworkers. Hell, he had only become employed at the library two months ago – there were staff here that were several years senior to him, both in terms of age and years of service.
No, the fault mostly lay within his rather reserved personality; growing up homeschooled in a small suburban town, he hadn't really had the opportunity to form that many relationships aside from a few neighborhood friends. After a university life that was mostly spent concentrating on deadlines and assignments, he had suddenly found himself a full-fledged adult with actual responsibilities—and somewhere along the way, he had forgotten how to interact with the rest of the world, which left him often mistaken for being indifferent, even arrogant, which he hoped was far from the truth.
Perhaps the next time his coworker invited him along for dinner after work, perhaps then, he would actually say yes.
Smiling decisively into the upturned collars of his coat, he rubbed his hands together, hoping to spark some semblance of warmth into them. The snow had picked up while he'd been lost in thoughts, and he still had a long way to go.
It was as he turned a corner when he first heard it; the faint clangs of metal clashing against metal, trailing off in a series of echoes that left the air quivering even in its absence. He paused in his steps, shooting a curious glance behind him, only to presented with an empty road – finally choosing to ignore it as he resumed his walk.
Until the clangs rang again, this time intermingled within a spray of tinkling bells and chimes, and another sound, a steady tlick that cut through all other noises, reverberating through the late winter air like the sounds of a heartbeat split apart into two.
Goosepimples broke out over his arms as his long strides slowed down to another stop. He slowly turned around, taking in the falling snow, the icy roads, the pavements that were already covered in a thin sheet of white; the street were completely quiet apart from the strange sounds, despite the rather early hour.
And despite every thought in his head that told him otherwise, he began walking in the direction of the noises—the quiet crunches of his shoes against fresh snow adding to the slow harmony of the metallic sounds, becoming faster, faster, till he was running through the roads, gusts of wind whipping his hair away from his forehead, exposing the thin layer of sweat that had formed over it.
The sounds teased him, growing louder at times till he almost believed himself to have reached it, only to grow faint yet again, changing locations ever so often that Jimin found himself rushing through several roads, making turns left and right—until his feet led him to him an empty alleyway, finally halting to a stop once faced with the dead end that was ahead.
The clangs were louder than ever, ringing in an uncoordinated jumble of chimes and peals, tintinnabulating aggressively until he could feel them trickle down the back of his spine as bone deep resonances. He warily walked towards the empty brick wall, cautiously laying a hand over it, ignoring the grime that appeared to cover it as he leaned forward to press his ear against it as well.
The sounds immediately roared into his ear, intensified hundredfold. His lips fell open with a slight gasp, heart thrumming fast in his chest, a mix of adrenaline from the sudden exertion and from the fear of the unknown.
His hands continued to move along the wall, finger pads brushing against the rough texture of concrete—
—until it curled around what was undeniably the smooth curve of something metal.
He jumped back, eyed growing wide as he took in the large door that had materialized in front of him; weathered and beaten, splintered at the edges and scuffed towards the very bottom, as if years of use had worn it down. His hand rested on the curve of a knocker handle, a mix of bronze and red copper belonging to the thick layer of rust that coated its sides, and slowly, apprehensively, he pushed forward, wincing as the ancient metal creaked at the sudden movement.
The door screeched and groaned as it opened, and the sounds that had been muffled through the wall blasted into the air at full volume.
Clocks.
That was what the sounds had been; hundreds, over thousands of clocks of every shape and size, ticking and chiming in loud unison as they covered the length of the walls and littered the floors of the long room that seemed to go on and on endlessly. He swallowed hard, every sensible train of thought coming to the common conclusion that he should walk away – and yet his feet propelled him forwards, pushing him onto the narrow pathway that snaked through the room.
Everywhere he looked, it was a new sight to behold; lantern clocks that were stacked within enormous shelves, their brass surfaces polished to perfection, gleaming from behind window panes, and large pendulum clocks that lined antique tables, the gentle sway of the hanging weights almost hypnotizing if stared at for too long. Crystal clocks shaped as bells and bell clocks set into rich mahogany bases, sundials that glinted gold and silver from the open cupboards nailed to the top of the walls.
Warm orange light illuminated the room, its source unknown. Jimin yelped and jumped back just as a small mechanical bird launched forward in front of his face, its little beak opening to let out a common cuckoo's shrill call. He belatedly looked to his side, where an array of cuckoo clocks were displayed against the beige wall. Ducking his head to avoid the row of birds that were still screeching into the air, he rushed forward underneath them, hands wrapped around his waist in a somewhat defensive stance.
The pathway finally emptied into a long corridor, the lighting dimmer but still enough to showcase the faces of clocks adorning the old brick walls between what appeared to be even more doors; some as ancient, perhaps even older than the one through which he had entered, others shiny and brand new, the putrid smell of paint still lingering in the air before them. He eyed them with raging curiosity, lacking the courage to find out what laid behind them.
His feet ached by the time he neared the end of the passageway, growing progressively darker while the clangs and chimes from the clock room became a distant noise. He patted down his coat for his phone, fishing it out in the hopes of using the flashlight. The screen faithfully blinked open, and Jimin blinked, hard.
"What the—" he muttered, rubbing his eyes, harder for a second time when nothing changed. And yet he was presented with the same peculiar sight; the time displayed on his screen was glitching, the numbers changing faster than he could read in a jumbled, rushed mess— and the same applied for the date underneath it. "What's wrong with you, huh," he mumbled, locking it and opening it again, gently tapping it against his thigh for an extra effect; his attempts all in vain for the displayed screen remained unchanged.
Brows furrowed in concentration, he was in the middle of trying to switch off his phone when he felt it – a stray breeze of air that blew just below his ear, raising the short hairs at the nape of his neck. His head shot up, the creases above his brows deepening just as another gust of wind blew his way, this time against his hair.
He pocketed his phone and began walking, squinting his eyes despite essentially being blinded by the darkness. Leaning against the walls, he felt his way through the corridor, only to come to a sudden stop as the toe of his shoe slammed into solid wall. A string of curses tumbled out of his lips as he brought his hands in front of him to regain balance, feeling the intersecting edges of the corridor walls that implicated that he was touching the corners of a dead end. Blindly, he moved sideways, palming along the rough concrete—until his hands were met with thin air.
Carefully shuffling to a side, he stepped through the opening, letting one palm rest against the inner wall as he carried on in a steady stride. The gusts of wind came stronger now, with smaller intervals of time between them, and yet they strangely put him at ease, claustrophobia be damned. He kept walking, the passage going on forever, seemingly unending—
—that was, until a bright dot of light appeared in the far distance.
The light at the end of the tunnel, Jimin smiled in spite of himself.
The dot of light grew larger as he walked further inwards, illuminating his surroundings until he could finally see his own feet. He ran the last few steps, marveling over the dustmotes that prettily floated in the air, finally coming face to face with the arched doorway through which blinding white light was filtering into the tunnel.
The light was too bright for him to see what lay beyond it, and he cautiously reached out, gasping when a ripple of waves spread from where his finger made contact, as if it was liquid light. Gathering up his wits, he pushed his hand through the strange film, and was largely surprised to find that... he didn't feel anything.
He slowly retracted his arm, fully expecting to find something altered, and yet nothing about it seemed to have changed; the arm of his coat still hung loosely around his wrist, his fingers perhaps a little flushed from the constant contact with the rough walls.
He looked back at the darkness through which he had come from, and then back towards the archway of light. Shoulders hunching down in defeat, he sighed into the air, finally deciding to throw all caution into the air and let the wind be his guide. He'd reached this far; he might as well go all the way.
Closing his eyes while taking a deep breath, he stepped into the light.
Warmth decorated the back of his lids, breezes playing against his temples, pushing hair into his eyes. He hummed as his ears registered the first of the tinkles, the clear, ringing clinks of delicate metals striking one another, and another sound; a constant, heavy rustling, foreign secrets being whispered into the air.
Jimin tried to step forward, but found his movements restricted by a light pressure against his legs. He finally opened his eyes, blinking fast for the first few seconds as they slowly adjusted to the sudden influx of light. Gradually, the haze faded away, and his mouth parted in a soft gasp when he saw that he was standing in the middle of an open field that stretched towards the ends of the horizon; the grass a mixture of pinks and reds, dancing to the songs created by the breezes that ran through them. The sky was a canvas of soft purple and blue, with dabs of yellow and leftover reds from a sun that was no longer up in the sky.
But what truly stole his breath away was the giant oak tree that stood ahead of him, its roots surfacing from the soil every now and then, twisting and turning across the grass as it spread out in thick aerial tangles. Broad branches towered up high over his head, while smaller twigs tapered off the trunk closer to the ground, seemingly in reach.
And perhaps he ought to have been more impressed by the golden leaves that glimmered as they swayed in unison to the wind, but his attention was stolen away by something else; the hundreds of thousands of pocketwatches that dangled from every single branch, swinging on the ends of thin, delicate chains, their silvery surfaces glittering in twilight's soft hues.
In a mix of shock and awe, he was pulled towards the tree, almost as if by an invisible force. As he watched, bright, silvery lights were emitted from several watches above him, their chains slowly dissolving into thin air – but instead of taking fatal plunges towards the ground, they floated down the air instead, slowly, gently, their lights slowly dimming as they approached the soft wisps of grass, where they gracefully landed and their lights went out.
Transfixed by the sight, he crouched down onto the ground, picking up one of the pocketwatches and thumbing its textured surface as he read the letters that were engraved onto them.
Kim Hyangsul .
241276 – 280117
He pressed the little button on its side, the outer coating of the clock springing open with ease. The hands both pointed towards the twelfth hour.
He carefully placed it back on the grass, shuffling along the ground to pick up some of the other pocketwatches that had fallen. Some of them had names engraved in Japanese, Chinese, even in English, and several more in languages that he was not at all familiar with.
Just looking at them made an ache bloom in his chest, an unexplainable feeling of loss, of silent grief.
He got back up onto his feet, face tilted upwards as he watched several more watches fall from the tree. The air was far from cold, but he clutched his coat closer to his body as he resumed his walk towards the bulky trunk.
The bark was rough and patchy to the touch, showing off years of its history with pride. He walked around the tree's perimeter, struck with the sudden urge to reach the opposite side, but a watch that tangled off a lower branch soon blocked his path. Just as he was about to brush it aside and pass through, a detail caught his eye; engraved onto the back of the silver carvings, in bold hangul, was a name that he was very familiar with.
Park Jimin.
131095
His fingers trembled as he reached up to cup it within his palm, burning with the curiosity to know what its inner face would read. Trailing his fingers up along its side, they finally came to rest over the small crown at the very top, and then—
"Who's there?"
His head snapped up painfully fast, hands instantly withdrawing from the pendant. The thick metal wildly swung back and forth at the sudden release, unfocused in his vision as Jimin stared wide-eyed at the man who was currently walking towards him.
Blonde hair, long and unkempt, sticking out in every possible direction, and a hauntingly familiar pair of eyes that were currently shooting daggers in his way.
Impossible.
It was impossible; the man hadn't been real, had been a hallucination that had run wild under the influence of a mixture of panic and weeks of built-up stress. He was sure of it, he was sure that the night's events had not transpired the way that his memories told him they had—
—and yet here he was, alive and very much real, standing right before him.
"You!"
He unwittingly burst out, clapping a hand over his mouth in growing horror. The man's brows furrowed deeper in response, eyes flashing with confusion.
"Me?" He finally questioned, slowly tilting his head.
"But you... you died. You were gone." Jimin weakly offered, incapable of a more articulate explanation.
A surprised look crossed over the man's face, gone as soon as it had arrived, replaced by a suspicious stare as he narrowed his eyes at him.
"You shouldn't be here. How did you pass through the entrance gates?" He finally spoke, crossing his arms over his chest.
"The entrance g— I'm sorry, what? I just – I followed the chimes."
If Jimin hadn't been watching the man so diligently, he would have almost missed it; the way the man's eyes widened just a little, mouth falling slack as it parted by the slightest amount.
"You can hear them?" The man asked, his voice inquisitive.
Jimin decided that he did not like feeling as if he was being interrogated.
"Of course I can. They're rather loud, aren't they?"
A corner of the stranger's mouth twitched, as if he was suppressing a smile. He clucked his tongue as he whipped his head away, quietly muttering something to himself before looking back at him.
"It doesn't matter. You can't be here. I'm sorry, but you need to leave. Now."
"What?" The man was being ridiculous. In fact, everything about this place was ridiculous, bordering nonsensical, but Jimin would be damned if he was going to just leave without any explanations. The man had been dead. He'd died in his arms, and if that didn't warrant some form of closure, nothing did. "You can't just send me away, I don't even know how I got here! Didn't you hear what I said before? You died—"
"Stop." There was a sense of urgency in the way he breathed out the word, and it brought Jimin to a pause. "Stop, I don't... I don't want to know. You've trespassed this place for long enough. Leave; the gates are waiting for you."
At that, Jimin distractedly glanced back, mouth parting in shock as he saw the ancient door from earlier hovering mid-air, emanating a white light that outlined its perimeter in a bright halo.
When he turned around, the man was already walking away.
"Wait! You still haven't explained anything!" He tried calling out, but the man's strides did not slow down.
He had to think of something, fast.
“You called me by my name!” Jimin finally yelled, and the stranger came to sudden halt.
There it was.
“You called me by my name. And you told me that–, that you loved me.”
The man slowly turned around, his face an unreadable mask as he regarded him.
“Who are you.” He repeated, a small furrow forming between his brows. Slowly, he began walking back to his side, the sharp clicks of his footsteps resonating loud in the air despite the tinkles and clangs of clockwork from above them.
Jimin swallowed hard, resisting the urge to step back as he squared his shoulders and spoke in the most professional voice he could muster. “I believe I could ask you the same thing, sir.”
The man cocked his head at his answer, pale hair falling over his eyes at the small action. Slowly, he gestured around him, a bored expression on his face as he declared,
“I’m the clockmaster. I watch over time.”
"The what now?" He blurted out, coloring slightly as he realized how unsophisticated he had sounded. The man gave him a pitying look, nodding his head towards the door.
"You couldn't possibly comprehend it. I'll ask you again. Please, leave." He looked several centuries older as he turned back around, shoulders hunched down, resuming his walk through the pastel grass fields.
"I'm Jimin!" He called out as a final resort, almost resigned to the fact that he wasn't going to get any answers from the stranger. "My name. It's Park Jimin."
The man faltered in his steps, looking over his shoulder and meeting his eyes with a piercing gaze.
"Park... Jimin." He licked his lips, as if he was tasting the sounds of his name on his lips. "It would be... wise, of you to not come looking for me again."
And with those final words, he finally walked away, while Jimin stood frozen in place behind him. It was only when the man became a blurred figure in the horizon that Jimin let out the deep breath that he hadn't even known he was holding, turning around to do as the man had instructed – for what else was he supposed to do stranded in the middle of the equivalent of a modern wonderland?
"I wasn't even looking for him..." He muttered to himself, walking to where the door floated above the grass. He looked up, noting that the knocker glinted a wicked gold – as opposed to the rusted brass that he had grasped onto on his way in.
He had to stretch onto his toes in order to reach it, tugging at it weakly as he pushed the door open. The sudden outpour of light momentarily blinded him, and he had his eyes closed as he hopped up, his feet barely making its landing as he stumbled in.
For a brief moment in time, he was suspended mid-air. A comforting breeze blew against him from all sides, making ripples out of his hair and playing with the fabric of his coat, and Jimin couldn't find a single reason as to why he should move, let alone open his eyes.
And then the sensations vanished as his feet landed on a hard surface, the impact of it forcing his eyes open. He looked around. He was back in the alleyway from before, the snow fall significantly heavier, already forming a thin layer over the length of the small road.
He turned back. The door was gone, as were the sounds of the clocks. The grimy walls stared back at him innocently, as if it had been as such all along.
He shivered, leaning against one of the dumpsters lining the sides of the road for long seconds before he finally began his walk back home.
Unheard to him, in the far distance, a clock struck two o'clock.
III : V
Day 57:
Tlick, tlick, tlick.
The sounds never truly stopped.
They followed him everywhere that he went; in the clamor of footsteps as he walked through heavy crowds, in the rumbles of engines of evening buses that he seldom took. They were there in the cafés that he visited as the thrums of the working coffee machines, and late at night, when he was finally home after a long day's work, comfortably nestled underneath the warmth of several blankets, when he closed his eyes as he laid on his side, he would hear it within his own heartbeat.
As of the moment, Jimin had his eyes zeroed in on the large clock that was hung up on a wide column in the middle of the room, concentrating on the needly second hand as it walked forward, step by step, in a steady pace. The sounds were deafening in the hushed silence that the library had to offer, reverberating off several surfaces and coming together to form one cosmic echo that was slowly giving him a headache.
"..ark.."
The hand moved with little jerks as it progressed on to the next second, travelling just a little further beyond the required distance before returning back to place; as if it were an excitable, overly eager child that was being reined in by some invisible force.
Vaguely, it occurred to him that it was very probable that he was going a little insane.
"Mr. Park?" A sudden voice cut through his thoughts, and his head jerked towards it, finding one of the part-timing assistants hovering near the counter, eyeing him with a worried look.
"Oh, Jeongguk." He tiredly rubbed his face, wishing he had gotten a little more sleep. "What is it? Did you finish updating the stock records?"
"Yes, it's all done." He immediately answered in that funny little way of his, face stiff and serious, as if he was stating a report. But then his shoulders hunched back down and a strange look flitted across his face as he opened his mouth, hesitating for a moment before he finally blurted out, "Are you feeling alright, Mr. Park?"
Jimin stopped rubbing his cheek, a quizzical smile spreading across his lips. "Is something the matter?"
Jeongguk shrugged, rocking on his heels as he tried to seem nonchalant. "'S nothing, Mr. Park. You've just been looking real tired lately, that's all."
The smile on his face grew wider as he fondly regarded the other. The boy was still in college, worked part-time at the library for the afternoon shifts, and despite fully understanding that he was only doing it for the extra credit, Jimin found that he didn't mind it in the least; not when he was such a useful addition to his team, and especially not when he was this endearing.
"Ah, I've been having some trouble sleeping lately," he confessed in a hushed voice, clicking on the mouse to bring his screen back to life. It took a few shakes and several taps on the keyboard for it to awaken, displaying the library system's records for the current day.
As he watched, a pop-up message blinked across the screen, informing him that one of their online volumes had just been requested by a registered user.
"Oh, my brother used to have the same problem!" Jeongguk eagerly whispered back, excited that Jimin had said something outside of the usual professional persona that he adopted at work. It was touching, really, how much the boy loved being of help. "Ma tried to take him to some funky voodoo healer, but he got rid of it on his own by listening to these... sound things? Right when he goes to sleep, I mean. I think it was something called, uh, white voice?"
"White noise?" Jimin offered, slightly amused.
"Yes, that! White noise." Jeongguk laughed sheepishly as he looked down, embarrassed. "Hey, Mr. Park," he suddenly blurted out, and Jimin hummed in response. "I made some mixes of the— the white voice stuff, for my brother back then. If you'd like, I could link you to some?"
He looked so hopeful that there was no way that Jimin could have turned him down.
"I'd really appreciate that, Jeongguk." He replied sincerely, shooting him a warm smile. Jeongguk grinned back at him, looking extremely pleased with himself as he walked away, and Jimin fondly shook his head. The kid was an odd one; though he supposed he should have expected that from their first day of working together, when the kid had showed up in his formal-wear, a slightly desperate look on his face as he insisted that he call him by his first name.
Left alone, he quickly processed the request on their website, waiting until the transaction was completed before taking a sweeping glance across the room. It was a Saturday, which meant there were considerably fewer numbers of visitors; just one or two people occupying every other table, a few regulars skimming through the shelves for new arrivals. They would be closing up early today, but Jimin could already feel his eyelids getting heavy. All of the sleepless nights really were catching up with him.
"Ms. Kang, would you mind handling things here while I pop out for a bit?" He murmured over to the senior assistant seated in the next station, who nodded kindly, waving him off with gentle motions of her hand. He smiled gratefully as he stuffed his pockets with his wallet, phone and keys and stood up, biting back a groan as his spine screamed something terrible from having been in the same position for too long.
The short walk to the nearby local store was a most welcome change of scenery; workers were out and about on the roads, still removing the signs and decorations left over from the recently passed Valentine's day. Bottles of heart shaped candy greeted him at the counter while Jimin smiled as thanks to the cashier who checked out his usual box of cigarettes. His eyes swept over the streets as he left the store, hands tucked into the warmth of his coat.
He had to walk past a few streets to reach his regular smoking spot, a little alleyway tucked behind an old apartment complex. His phone vibrated just as he leant back against the wall, and he fished it out of his pocket, smiling at the expansive list of links that Jeongguk had just texted him, arranged into neat little rows, bullet-pointed and all.
Deciding that right now was as good of a time as any, he plugged his earphones into the little port on the side and clicked on one of the links, slipping the phone back into his pocket. While the playlist loaded, he took out one of the cigs, placing it between his lips as he went through his coat for his lighter. He had to give it several flicks of his thumb before the little flame shot up, holding it to the end of his cigarette as he took a light drag.
Warm air flooded his mouth, laced with the faint undertones of vanilla, sticking to his tongue before it traveled down to his lungs in a hot trail. The cherry of his cigarette glinted a coal red as the playlist finally loaded. The first track began with a few notes of a piano, soft, but slowly building up, until the sounds of ocean waves were eventually added over the mix. His shoulders relaxed as he slowly exhaled, warm all over with his lungs wrapped in the cozy blankets of tobacco smoke.
The tracks varied, going from various sounds of nature to the buzz of small talk within coffee shops, from complex piano pieces to the consistent whirs of a portable fan. He was already halfway through the playlist, a quarter into his pack when the last thrums of a thunderstorm slowly faded away, signaling the arrival of the next track. Shifting against the wall, he gently tapped the cigarette towards the ground, watching as sprinkles of ash fell away.
And then—
Tlick, tlick, tlick.
The cigarette tumbled out of his hand, dropping onto the ground with a soundless noise. Frozen in place, he stared at the burning end as it weakly sizzled on the stained concrete before eventually going out.
In a daze, he patted around his pocket, almost dropping his phone with his clumsiness as he pressed the home button with icy fingers.
Two things greeted him; the small play symbol on the lockscreen music player, which meant that his phone was no longer playing any music, and the displayed time which was very visibly glitching again—exactly as it had weeks back.
He raised one hand to his ear, hesitating for but a moment before pulling on the earbuds, confirming what he already knew.
The sounds weren't coming from his phone, which could only mean—
"...Jimin."
Slowly, he turned around – and there he was, decked out in yet another ridiculous outfit.
The clockmaster, as he had once proudly declared himself.
"So you are real." He murmured, mostly to himself. The man must have heard him anyway, because his face blanched before reassuming the mellow, even slightly rueful expression.
"I— You look... tired." He awkwardly offered, his demeanor a complete change from the last time they had met.
Softer, like from the night before—but frustrations over the last few weeks had piled up far too high for Jimin to comprehend what it could mean.
"That's it?" He burst out, stinging from the cold treatment he had received in their last meeting. "What, you just – the last time we met you got pissed off and accused me of hounding you—"
"—Jimin—," The man looked shamefaced, rightfully so, but Jimin was having none of it. He hadn't gone through weeks of paranoia and not one decent night of sleep for some 'you look tired' bullshit, thank you very much.
"—so, what is it then? Are you given some sort of a free pass to just pop out of nowhere, confuse the hell out of—"
"—Jimin, I can explain—"
"Then explain!" He raised his voice, more worked up than he could ever recall being in his life. It felt good—some part of him registered—finally being able to direct all of his frustrations at the root cause of it all. "Explain! Because if I'm remembering this right, you were the one who told me not to come looking for you with your little monologue about being wise or some ridiculous shit, which, by the way, I wasn't even trying to do, but your fucking clocks have been following me around for weeks! You asked why I look tired? " He broke off, panting a little from his little tirade. His head throbbed something fierce at that very instant, as if it were backing his words. "They're fucking everywhere! They—what—?"
The man had walked forward in a determined stride, came to a halt in front of him and pressed his hands over his ears.
He deflated, all anger dissipating in favor of confusion over the pure absurdity of the current situation.
Slowly, the man let his hands fall away, closely observing him.
"Do you still hear it?" He asked quietly, and Jimin puffed his chest out, preparing to pick up from right where he had been cut off—
—which was when he realized; he couldn't hear the clocks in his head anymore.
"How did you do that?" He asked, staggering backwards.
"Yoongi." was all the man replied with.
"What?"
"Yoongi. That's the name that I was given, Yoongi. I thought... you might not know it yet."
Baffled by the sudden change in topic, he stared at the man for long seconds before letting out a long, drawn-out sigh.
"Alright," he suddenly felt exhausted, the fatigue from before catching up with him again. This man, Yoongi, wasn't making any sense, and really, he needed to get back to the library before he kept Ms. Kang waiting for too long. "Alright then, Yoongi, look, I don't know who you are or what all of... this... is supposed to mean but— can you just leave me alone? You and your... clocks, please? I think I have enough on my hands without needing all of— this, on top of it."
He stole a glance at the other as he muttered the last words, taken aback when he caught the panic-stricken look that flashed across Yoongi's face.
"I—," he broke off, appearing to struggle for words. "I'd like to apologize, Jimin, about before. But can you— do you think you could give me a chance to explain myself?"
And something about the way that he looked, hair disheveled, hands clenched into fists at his sides, with the slightest slouch to his shoulders as if he was already preparing himself for rejection, some part of it surfaced a memory from the night in the freezing snow – when the man had rested his head against his shoulder and said the strangest of words;
Don't give up on me.
A loud silence stretched on between them, getting more and more drawn-out. Yoongi appeared to become smaller with every passing second, until he finally made to turn around, softly speaking, "It's alright. I'll go."
"Wait!" Jimin called out, and Yoongi stopped in his tracks, a hopeful look passing over his face.
He mulled over his thoughts, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth before finally coming to a decision. "Fine. I mean, you can explain yourself."
Yoongi hesitated, looking unsure of himself as he spoke. "I know this is forward of me, but—. Can I take you somewhere else?"
Jimin raised his brow in a silent question, and Yoongi shrugged towards the side of the alley, where a door had materialized at what had moments ago been a dull, continuous wall.
"Just – somewhere that we won't be interrupted. Or overhead." He muttered, looking anywhere but at Jimin.
"That doesn't sound all too ominous," Jimin remarked, fighting back a smile at the affronted look that crossed Yoongi's face.
"I would never hurt you, Jimin."
And there he went again, his strangely solemn words sounding so out of place. It made Jimin feel slightly uneasy, as if he was being left out on something very important.
"I have to be back at—"
"I'll bring you back in no time." Yoongi cut him off, playing with the sleeve of his sweater. "I know that you don't trust me right now, Jimin, but I swear, I just want to explain myself."
Jimin observed the way the man fidgeted underneath his gaze, his nervousness glaringly obvious from how he kept moving his hands, wringing them together, lacing them at his back, bringing one up to scratch the bridge of his nose. It was true; he didn't trust him, had no reason to do so, but he was also quickly coming to the conclusion that some nosy, overly curious part him wanted, no, needed to hear what the other had to say.
Pulling on the edges of his coat, he nodded towards the door. "Lead the way then, clockmaster."
"Yoongi." The man corrected, something akin to relief lighting up his features.
"Yoongi." Jimin echoed, smiling grimly as the man opened the door and stepped inside, holding it open for him. Hoping he wasn't making a huge blunder, he walked after him, following the other's footsteps.
It was too dark to see where they were going, but Jimin tried his best to keep up. A misplaced step, however, had him losing his footing, and a hand grabbed him by his wrist just in time, saving him from what would have been a painful fall.
"Thank you." He murmured, looking down at where their hands were still joined. Convinced that the safer choice would be to maintain contact, they both remained hand in hand as they walked through the tunnel of darkness.
"This must be the second time," Yoongi suddenly spoke, tugging on his hand as he directed him to make a left turn.
"What?" Jimin belatedly asked, distracted by all the walking.
"Before, you mentioned that I asked of you to not come looking for me again. So this must be your — our second meeting, if I'm not wrong."
Something about the way he phrased his words irked Jimin, but he ignored in favor of another thought.
"No, this is our third meeting." He slowly responded. "The first time was when you—"
He broke off as Yoongi came to a sudden stop, pushing his heels against the ground as he tried to avoid another collision.
"We're here," was all that Yoongi murmured before the sharp click of a door being opened cut through the silence, and a sliver of light flooded the tunnel. The hand still wrapped around his arm gently tugged him forward, and he let himself be guided along, his feet landing on something soft.
He had to squint through the sudden influx of light, letting out an amused snort when he realized where they were standing.
"What?" Yoongi questioned, and Jimin shook his head, fighting to keep the smile off his face.
"It's just, you brought me to a rooftop."
"What's wrong with rooftops?" Yoongi asked again, his tone slightly defensive.
"Nothing!" Jimin laughed, scrunching his noise. "It's just. It's terribly common, don't you think?"
"Common? As common as are houses, one would think."
"No, no, you're not getting it," he waved Yoongi off, walking through the thick covering of snow towards the edge of the building. "It's just— ah, forget it, you wouldn't understand."
"I might come to understand it easier than you would think," Yoongi frowned, walking after him when he shook his head in reply. "Jimin," He called out in a petulant little voice, and Jimin looked at him incredulously. "Won't you tell me? Please?"
"Weren't you going to explain yourself?" He blurted out, slightly flustered, regretting his choice of words when he saw Yoongi's face fall as a result. "I'm – I'm sorry for pressing, Yoongi, but you have to understand, all of this is just... it's pretty hard for me to take in."
Yoongi shook his head, dropping himself onto the ground and leaning back on his arms, legs splayed out across the snow. "You don't have to apologize, Jimin," he murmured, turning around to look him in the eye. "I know how strange this was for me too."
Again, with the cryptic words. Jimin wondered just how much of an explanation he was going to be able to get out of him, if anything at all. Sighing quietly, he sat down next to him, wincing as the frigid iciness of the snow seeped in through several layers of clothing.
"So," he declared, looking at Yoongi from the corner of his eye.
"So." Yoongi repeated after him, eyes still focused on somewhere ahead of them. "I don't know where to start," he finally admitted with an embarrassed laugh, rubbing his cheek with the palm of his hand in an oddly endearing mannerism.
"You called yourself... the clockmaster?" He pressed on, providing the other with an opening. To his surprise, Yoongi laughed, rubbing the bridge of his nose while his ears slowly became mottled with pink.
"Was that what I called myself?"
Jimin nodded, a smile creeping up on his face. It was obvious that Yoongi was embarrassed, but his laughter was the genuine sort that made one want to join in, if only to prolong the moment – and Jimin was no exception to this.
"It's not exactly wrong, I suppose. Rather a title that I was given from the beginning; you wouldn't introduce yourself to another as a member of the Homo Sapiens Sapiens, would you?"
"I'd introduce myself as a homo homo sapiens sapiens," Jimin remarked, immediately recoiling at his own words. He looked over to Yoongi, who – bless his soul – looked as if he was trying very hard not to laugh. He sunk back into his coat, letting himself marinate in his moment of self-shame.
"Well," Yoongi eventually replied, laughter lacing his words. "It's like that, in a way. It's not that I am in control of time, or that I hold power over her. I suppose... a caretaker, would describe it best? It's hard to explain entirely, but it's my duty to make sure that she continues to thrive on."
"How can time possibly not thrive on?" Jimin asked, intrigued.
"Have you never felt time stop for you?" Yoongi shot back, and Jimin shook his head. "Never?" He looked surprised by the admission. "Not even during moments of fear? In moments of intense joy? Of unexpected discoveries?"
Jimin slowly shook his head to everything, feeling more self-conscious at every word. The way Yoongi spoke about it made him feel as if he was missing out on something, something that he ought to be more familiar with, and all of a sudden, he was transported back to when he was eighteen years old, young and all too insecure as the rest of the world passed by in a pace that was too fast for him to catch up with, or to comprehend.
Yoongi must have mistaken his discomfort for something else, because the next thing he knew, he was shrugging off his sweater, laying it over Jimin's neck and bringing the sleeves around in a make-shift scarf.
"You looked cold," Yoongi shrugged when Jimin looked at him questioningly, tugging the warm fabric higher up over his chin. Jimin didn't feel the need to correct him, simply continued to observe the little furrow in his brow as he concentrated on perfecting the knot on the scarf, which, if he were to be really honest, was slightly biting into his windpipe, though he wouldn't dare voice that out with the effort that the other seemed to be putting into tying it.
"She enjoys spontaneity," Yoongi suddenly murmured.
"She?" Jimin questioned.
"Time."
"I didn't realize that time was a woman." Jimin mumbled, his voice coming out muffled through the thick material pressed over it. Yoongi laughed, patting his hands triumphantly as he leant back and gave him a quick once-over, proudly inspecting his finished work.
"It's the only way that I can refer to her in the language of your kind. She, who rules over everything, who gives and takes, creates and destroys. A being of such power, she is the closest that I can get to referring to her with due respect."
"You make her sound like a God." He scrunched his nose, inching towards the edge of the rooftop to get a better view. It looked to be a long drop down, but then again, he'd never been especially afraid of heights.
"Isn't that what she is?" Yoongi shot back, following after him until they sat shoulder-to-shoulder again. "Perhaps the core basis behind human beliefs is more similar than you would think."
"Are you trying to distract me with philosophy, Yoongi?" He asked sweetly, letting out a bark of laughter when Yoongi shrugged in response, a pleased little smile on his face.
"Did it work?"
"Not really," He sobered somewhat, remembering the reason why they were here in the first place. "Alright, so you don't control time, but— what were those corridors? How are you able to navigate through them? The room full of clocks, the fields, that – that tree with the hanging pocket watches?"
An uncomfortable expression passed over Yoongi's face. "The realms of time," he eventually answered, "Essentially, it's what connects... everything. That was, is, or ever will be. Or will never be."
Or will never be. The phrase caught Jimin's attention, but as of the moment, he had more pressing questions that needed answers.
"And where exactly do I come into in all of this? We – You—" He broke off, eyes drawn towards the pile of snow on which he was unconsciously tracing patterns onto while his mind raced.
The past and the present, interlaced together. A clockmaster who roamed through the realms of time herself, who changed dispositions at each of their encounters; regarded him with fond familiarity at one instance and treated him as an unwelcome stranger in the other.
And the words that he had said before;
"Before, you mentioned that I asked of you to not come looking for me again. So this must be your — our second meeting, if I'm not wrong."
Yours. Yours, not ours, the latter had merely been a correction of a slip-up. Which could only mean—
"Our meetings. They don't happen in chronological order, do they."
He slowly looked over to Yoongi, who jerked his head in a little nod.
"So the first time that I met you—"
"I can't answer that," Yoongi suddenly spoke over him, his head whipping up to face him. There was a desperate look in his eyes, something akin to fear, a pitiful plea. "I can answer everything else, but I can't answer that, Jimin, I'm sorry."
"Why?" Jimin argued, frustrations from before coming rushing back in a sweep. "Why can't you talk about it? And while we're at it, why me? Why am I in the middle of all of this? Or is this a common narrative for you, clockmaster? To find humans to toy around with—"
"Look, I'm just as confused as you are!" Yoongi got up onto his feet, agitatedly clenching and unclenching his fists. "It's not as if I'm seeking you out myself, Jimin, the corridors just keep leading me back to you. You should at least understand that, if nothing else – it's the same way you keep being led back to me."
Jimin got up as well, frustratedly running his hand through his hair. He swerved around, accusingly glaring at the other. "I thought you brought me here to give me answers."
"Some things don't have an explanation," Yoongi tiredly rubbed his temple. "And even if they did, I haven't been granted the privilege of knowing them. But know that I'm being sincere, Jimin, at least believe that."
Silence ensued as Jimin held his gaze steady on him for long seconds, contemplating on whether to believe his words. He finally looked away, directing it towards the towering skyscrapers spread out before them instead, warm hues lighting up from behind small windows, contrasting against the violet haze cast upon the city by the heavy snow clouds from above.
He didn't even know where he was, he realized; the buildings were most certainly not from his city, the roads too bare and empty of vehicles for what appeared to be late afternoon. The air felt several degrees colder than it had been moments ago, but perhaps it had something to do with the sudden drop in the atmosphere as a result of their talk.
He sighed, turning back around as he spoke. "I'd like to go back, please."
"I thought you had more questions."
"I do. But I'm tired, and upset, and not really in the mood for it."
He ignored the look of hurt that flashed across Yoongi's face, letting his eyes fall towards the ground.
"From what I've gathered, we're going to meet again, aren't we? For now, though, I'd just really like to be left alone."
Yoongi nodded jerkily, his mouth thinned into a tight line. He snapped his fingers, and as Jimin watched, a door materialized right where the edge of the rooftop gave way to thin air.
"It'll take you back."
"Thank you," he murmured, not looking back as he walked towards the door. His hand hovered over the handle when—
"Jimin?"
"Yes?" He turned back. Yoongi stood several feet back, his frame small as he huddled against the falling snow.
"Rest well, alright? I'll – I'll try to keep the chimes from following you again."
The sincerity within his words poked holes at Jimin's conscience — but not enough to change his mind. Straightening up, he gave a stiff little nod before turning around and pushing the door open, stepping into the familiar white light.
The staff entrance of the library greeted him as he stepped out. He took a few seconds to steady himself, then slotted his key card against the machine, heading in towards the main library hall.
Ms. Kang smiled hesitantly at him from the front desk, a confused look flitting over her face.
"Back so soon, dear?" She asked, scooting forward to let Jimin pass through to his station.
"Soon?" Jimin asked as he settled down in his seat, lowering his head to try and discreetly take a whiff of his coat, hoping he didn't smell too much like cigarette smoke, only to encounter the thick sweater that he had forgotten had been slung around his neck. He slowly removed the clothing and rubbed it between his fingers. Flecks of gold were splattered over the dark fabric— city lights, Jimin realized, the sweater depicting a skyline that looked vaguely familiar.
"You couldn't have been gone for a minute, did you forget something?"
He looked up from the sweater, to where the elderly woman was still peering at him, a quizzical smile on her face.
He hesitated before pulling on a smile, pushing the sweater in a tight ball into the nook of space between the arm rest and the corner of his chair.
"No, just realized I wasn't so tired after all."
The woman appeared to accept his weak explanation, giving an acknowledging nod before she went back to pouring over old record books.
"Oh! Mr. Park! I was just about to send you the playlists!" Jeongguk walked past the counter right then, his frame half-hidden behind the towering stack of books that he carried in his arms.
"Be careful, Jeongguk," Jimin chastised, slipping his phone out of his coat and unlocking it, the time reading eighteen minutes to 3 o'clock with a text message full of links currently on display, complete with the little time stamp from the app.
Message received at 15:05
"Take all the time you need." He murmured, pressing the button on its side, the screen's display blinking into darkness. His reflection stared back at him from the smooth surface, a grim expression settled over his face.
Later that night, as he settled into the warmth of his bed, his head was clear of the sounds of the clocks.
And yet he remained awake all the same, his mind racing through thoughts of golden lights and violet skies, of the words that had been exchanged with the clockmaster, and the expression on his face as he had been left behind.