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He was the mightiest king of all. Ruler of the seven seas, keeper of the mountains.
Adored by his people andmarried to a beautiful young lady who gave birth to a breathtakingly gorgeous son, he thought his live was perfect.
He thought he had everything until one day he doesn’t.
His fame, apparently, had gained him as much foes as he gained allies. Magicians, who were long since banned from stepping foot in the city due to their uncontrollable powers and whims, gathered in the deepest part of the forest where even the sun cannot reach. Hidden by fields of trees and grass where the king and his soldiers cannot find them.
A composition of powerful spells they casted, until the oh-so-gorgeous son of the king was not quite a looker anymore.
The boy grew thinner each days, his once rosy cheeks turned pale, his raven black hair turning all white as if he grew a hundred years older in the span of one night.
Out of anger, the king instructed his powerful soldiers to completely burn down the whole forest, resulted in the extermination of the remaining wizards.
One thing he didn’t know was that they would have lifted the spell if only he would take them back into his land.
After all, what harm would their coming back cause to the king when his son means the whole world to him, when the life of his beautiful boy was on the line ? Honestly, it was supposedly a small price to pay.
Now the coals cannot be turned back into woods. The eradicated, burn down forest — as well as the only group of people capable of lifting the spell — cannot be brought back to life.
So in a desperate attempt, he did the one thing he should have not.
He prayed.
Oh don’t get me wrong, there’s no bad in praying, if you knew who to pray to.
Which was something the king didn’t seem to know.
Wise men understand not to pray to the god who listens when it’s dark, and the king was all but wise, but what else can he do when his own flesh and blood, his pride and joy was at stake ?
Therefore, he knelt down at the back of his castle, right after the sun sets.
He knelt and wept and prayed until his prayers was finally answered.
Too delighted to have his son’s livelihood back, he forgot that the god at the dark doesn’t grant wishes.
He trades them for something else.
Nineteen years was gone in delight. His son grew to be the most beautiful man the kingdom has ever seen. His presence became a blessing for the people. The shining raven locks, the plump red lips adorning his face, the beauty spot underneath his left eye. Everything about him was perfect.
Until the price for his life had to be paid.
On his twentieth birthday, right after the sun sets, he was erased.
Not literally, but more figuratively.
His physique was still solid, still as beautiful as ever but nobody seemed to remember who he was.
Not even his own parents.
People would see him and asked for his name and complimented his beauty, but right after they tore their eyes away from him, they would forget him, as if any crumbs of memories about him was totally wiped clean.
The only creature to remember him was the very same god whom his father prayed to.
His father had asked for his life. He had asked for forever, and forever he got, but forgotten.
The god traded back his life for recollection. He had always waited in the dark, long since human last have faith in him. Long since he was remembered.
So the jealous god took an advantage of the desperate, foolish king. Enticed him with the thoughts of immortality at the cost of remembrance.
The irony, however, was although the king was the one who did the trade, his son was the one to pay the price. The beautiful boy now have to live the rest of his live — his immortal life — alone, without anyone to remember him.
Just like the god once was.
He must now live his life in suffering, because what was the use of a beautiful face such as his if not one living person would remember it ?
Winter was the season Wooyoung hates the most.
He loves playing with the snow, he loves sitting there in the park, overlooking the city turning white, and if he’s lucky, sometimes there were people who’d give a cup of hot chocolate for free.
He, in fact, loves most part of winter if not for the cold and that it was the season for christmas.
He hated christmas because it reminds him of how he was alone.
Every christmas he would see couples, children, families spending time together just hanging around the house sitting beside their warm hearth, or out and about the streets, celebrating with cakes and fancy dinings.
He hated seeing them because they have everything he doesn’t.
Families, lovers, cakes, even warmth underneath a roof, shielding them from the cold.
At the earlier years of the curse, he had tried getting a job — or a place to stay — only to get kicked out when his boss or landlord comes back for the second time and see a stranger whom they have no recollection of letting in.
No, Wooyoung can’t live his life the way normal people would.
It had been tough at first. He’d have to steal a piece of stale bread from a run down shop then run as fast as he can until he’s out of sight and forgotten. He would sleep on an unoccupied park bench, newspaper as his blanket. He would sneak into a tailor to get an unused piece of clothing to replace the ragged one he was wearing.
The toughest part was during the war.
When the rich would hide in the safety of their big houses, and the poor was safely kept under government’s sanctuary, he’d stay out on the street, running for his life. He had no ID or whatsoever to identify himself, nor would people remember him anyway, so joining government’s program was not a choice. Empty houses or schools was the best shot of a shelter he could get.
Food was even more scarce during war. He’d be lucky if he could get a piece of fresh apple in a day. Most often, he’d just get an almost-expired food pack from the military base.
He survived war time nonetheless, and became stronger in living his days. Lonely he still felt, but now he had learned to take a lover.
With his looks, it wouldn’t be hard for him to get one or two. More often than not, he’d meet a nice gentleman who’d take him in for the night, providing love and shelter and company until the man closes his eyes and have the memories about him wiped the next morning.
Luckily, he’d always find a way to escape. Leaving first thing in the morning before his one night lover would wake up and see an unknown face on his bed and kick him out in ways he couldn’t describe as graceful. It’s not a rare occasion that they left some coins for him and left in the morning, thinking they’ve gotten too drunk they didn’t remember calling in an escort.
More often than not, when he’s feeling particularly attached to one person he would see them more than once. Repeating the same method every single day to charm them, which honestly wasn’t hard at all.
He’d stop seeing them once it became too overwhelming for him.
Somewere around the 1920's, he had met a gentleman called Song Mingi. The guy was tall and well built, a bit shy but was well mannered. He would come to a downtown bar every single night complaining about how his rich merchant of a parent would keep asking him on taking a lady’s hand in marriage while in fact he was attracted to men.
Back then it was a taboo for noblemen to be attracted to people with the same sex, so Wooyoung had never had an affair with highclass men. Mingi, be that as it may, was his first exception.
The first time he saw Mingi, the boy was sobbing in his fancy suit while sipping his fancy liquor. Despite his big build, he had looked like a lost puppy back then. Wooyoung couldn’t help but to approach him. He’d say comforting words like a professional escort would, and normally he’d leave after having two or three shots of drink and a meal from the guy’s wallet, but Mingi was different.
He had talked about his vision towards the country. How he wanted much more than simply just selling wines like his parents. How he wanted to be a scholar who travels the world in the name of knowledge if only his parents had let him. How he thinks it’s stupid to limit romantical feelings to gender differences.
But out of all things, unlike noblemen Wooyoung used to be seeing in bars, — men who’d think they’re so much better than the street rats only for the fact that they had more in their wallet— never once had Mingi laid hands on him without his consent.
So Wooyoung had kissed him that night, and Mingi had brought him to the nearest motel where they would spend the remaining time left until Mingi opens his eyes and Wooyoung would be a complete stranger to him.
He kept coming to the bar, looking for Mingi. Saying hi, comforting him, kissing him every night. He repeated everything like a practiced pattern.
And as the night goes by, his feelings only grew stronger for the taller man that it started to cause an uncomfortable clench in his heart when he’d see him the next day and find him asking for his name for the hundredth time.
That day Wooyoung had learned that when you cannot be remembered, you cannot be loved as well.
So he stopped seeing Mingi, leting go of all his feelings.
The worst part of being immortal, Wooyoung thinks, is that you’re still there, looking the same as ever even when your loved ones started getting older.
Years passed by and Wooyoung would still look after Mingi from afar.
He had been there among the servants on Mingi’s wedding day— he ended up marrying the mayor’s daughter — he had been there when Mingi took over his parents business at early age due to their declining health, he had watched Mingi’s hair growing white as he wept and burned all his encyclopedia along with his dream of becoming a scholar.
He had even attended Mingi’s funeral.
He had watched everything, and yet he’s still here. Alive as ever, beautiful as ever, but still forgotten.
After Mingi’s death, he never dared to love again.
When you’ve lived centuries of life like Wooyoung’s, you’ll eventually make peace with being alone.
So here he was on November 24th, a month before christmas, sneaking into an unoccupied apartment of a businessman who’s rarely home.
Though without friends or families or any company at all, at least he could feel the fancy of having walls around him when he’s asleep, even as it wasn’t his.
Wooyoung learnt that despite everything, his curse has it’s own advantages as well. Unlimited access to a book cafe without being kicked out for staying all day without buying anything was one of it. Every Saturday he would go there, pick up A Tale of Two Cities— which he had read countless of times already — and sit on the second row seat near the window.
He would weep at Sydney Carton’s unrequited love towards Lucie Manette as the sun sets, visible through the cafe’s window. He would tuck the book back into the farthest shelf on the corner, safe so that no one might find or buy it. So that he could come back the next week to read it again.
This Saturday was a bit different.
His favorite book — despite it being old with yellowing pages — wasn’t at the place where he had left it last week. He rummaged through the shelf, getting rid of the books in front of it, he even looked to it’s original shelf but it wasn’t there.
Had somebody bought it ? Was it thrown away for being too old ?
Various possibilities of the book’s whereabouts came to his mind until he heard a soft male voice from behind. The first time someone had talked to him while he’s here.
“Can i help you with anything, sir ?”
He looked at his back and found a young man, probably in his mid-twenties, wearing the shop’s apron while holding the one book he was looking for — now furnished with it’s new plastic cover. The man was a bit taller than him, with black hairs and dimples on his cheeks.
He was the most attractive man Wooyoung had ever seen in at least one and a half centuries.
Not wanting to have anything more to do with someone who might break his resilience, Wooyoung immediately snatched the book from the man’s hand.
“This, thank you,” he said promptly before leaving.
Unluckily for him, the man followed suit, sitting in front of his favorite seat on the couch.
“You read classics ?” he asked, utmost curiosity shining in his eyes as he’s getting comfortable on his seat.
This guy is gonna be quite a handful, Wooyoung thought.
“Yeah, and you have a job to attend to,” he answered without so much as looking at the nameless man in front of him.
“I could stay, there’s nothing much to do here anyway. Grandpa just needed someone to rearrange the books to it’s rightful shelves so i volunteered, mainly because he has lots of classics. I love classics.”
“Mr. Choi was your grandpa ?” he finally gave him a bit of attention, peeking up from his book to look into the guy.
“Uh-huh. Oh by the way my name’s San. Choi San,” he says smiling, bringing back the dimples on his cheeks.
Damn.
His walls crumbled down.
Wooyoung thought it wouldn’t hurt to have a company for once in a while, so he indulges.
“Wooyoung.”
San was still keeping the smile on his face while looking at him intently with his wide, cat-like eyes.
“So…. where were you before ? i mean, i haven’t seen you around before today,” Wooyoung dared asking.
“Oh, college. I’m on my winter break so i have time to help around at grandpa’s shop.” San answered.
“How old are you again ?”
“Twenty three, probably around your age,”
At that, Wooyoung scoffed.
So much for being immortal, he thought.
“Yeah right, i’m probably over a thousand already, i forgot.” it drew a breathy laugh from San.
Wooyoung couldn’t tore his eyes away from the boy whose eyes seem to form a thin line when he laughs in front of him.
“You’re funny,” San said, wiping his tears from his previous laughter.
Wooyoung decided to ignore that and continued reading.
“For you, and for any dear to you, I would do anything. I would embrace any sacrifice for you and for those dear to you. And — “ San suddenly recited a quote from Carton,
“ — when you see your own bright beauty springing up anew at your feet, think now and then that there is a man who would give his life, to keep a life you love beside you.” they said in unison, causing Wooyoung to pause his reading activity.
“I can never comprehend the depths of Carton’s love for Lucie no matter how many times i’ve read the book,” San added.
“Well he was a selfless, drunk attorney who’d find no worth in himself. Him going to the guillotine in place of Darnay was probably a form of redemption,” Wooyoung responded with genuine interest, heads turned from the book so that now their eyes met.
“Probably,” the boy said, gaze lingering on Wooyoung for a little too long.
A look that Wooyoung couldn’t describe.
Oh god, is this an attempt to make him suffer again? suffer from the loss of someone who might actually means something to him? suffer from having the sweet boy who reads classics in front of him not remembering him the next day he comes back here?
He decided not to let his feelings lure him in and instead focusing back on the book.
“Can i have your number?” San said out of the blue.
Bold, Wooyoung thought again.
“I’ve no phone.” Wooyoung replied nonchalantly.
They were quiet for five seconds before the shop attender continued,
“Oh please, there are many other lies you can tell to ditch someone,” he said, a bit disappointed — if not offended.
“You could’ve at least pretended to be nice,” he added, preparing to leave.
Wooyoung felt a pang on his heart at that.
“No, i — i really don’t have a phone,”
Wooyoung closed his eyes, responding too fast for his own good. Why did i bother to explain?
“Then is there any way i could see you again ?” San settled back at his seat, hinting that he’d like for them to meet again with hopes written all over his face.
“I’ll come back here tomorrow,” Wooyoung answered, knowing everything would be in vain as San would forget him the moment he steps out of the shop.
“Promise ?”
“Promise,” he said nevertheless.
Wooyoung did come back — though a week later than promised.
And just as he thought, the dimpled boy didn’t remember a thing about him, or the events last week.
He’d approach Wooyoung again, rambling again about Sydney Carton and Lucie Manette, but this time Wooyoung talked more.
This time he found out that San was majoring on art.
He promised to show Wooyoung his drawing the next day.
That day never come.
Wooyoung continued to come back to the shop for San, repeated the same sequence.
This time around, they talked about other books as well. They talked long about the beautiful story of Wiliam Herondale and Tessa Gray and James Carstairs.
They talked about how Brother Zachariah would always wait for Tessa each years on Blackfriars Bridge.
They talked about each other’s lives, though there were not much believable things to tell about Wooyoung’s.
Wooyoung stayed longer this time.
This time, Wooyoung found out that San was an orphan.
His grandpa and aunt from countryside was his only families left.
He promised to take Wooyoung to his aunt’s beach house sometimes on summer.
Woyoung tried not to think much about the will-be-forgotten promise.
A week before christmas, they went to grab a coffee.
San had tried to ask for his number — again — and Wooyoung distracted him by saying that he would give him his number in return for a coffee.
So here they are, two cups of hot espresso on the table while the two talks about mundane things.
San told him everything about his art major. Most of the things Wooyoung had already heard from their previous meetings. He now found out that San has an interest in croquis. San had told him that if given the chance, he’d like to hold a solo art exhibition for himself. He would showcase the drawings he created with his piece of charcoal.
He had asked Wooyoung if he would be willing to be the model for his next piece.
Wooyoung had said yes.
They grabbed an ice cream on the way back, San insisted on taking Wooyoung home, so he settled on the first apartment building he could see, telling him off with a kiss on his cheek in front of the door.
That day, Wooyoung had — once again — learnt how it felt like to live like a normal person.
December 24th, Christmas Eve, Wooyoung decided that it would be the last time he’d see San.
Not because he’s getting tired of him, it’s quite the opposite.
San painfully reminded him of Mingi.
Or to be exact, reminded him of the feelings he had towards Mingi.
He reminded Wooyoung how it felt to love again, and he was scared — scared of getting hurt the same way he did before.
Wooyoung doesn’t want to love someone only to have it gone again.
Because the one thing he had understood very well is that not loving someone or being loved at all hurts less than having loved someone and being forced to lose it again, being forgotten again.
So this day, he purposefully waited until it’s time for the shop to close.
He had memorized their routine. At 5 PM, San would close the blinds on the window, he’d turn off the lights at 5.30 then lock the door from outside at 6.
He was surprised when he came at 5.45 PM and found that the shop was still open, lights on and are still very welcome to visitors.
Weird, he thought.
Having no interest on waiting longer outside in the cold, he took a temptative step in.
He was greeted by San, a drawing on his hand, teary eyed and smiling.
“I thought you’d never come,”
Was the first word that Wooyoung heard.
The first day had been weird.
San was absolutely sure that he’d met the prettiest man alive on earth. He was sure they’d talked about A Tale of Two Cities. He was positive that they’ve exchanged names, but what was it again ?
San gave up after managing to write “Wo” and decided to picture the man in his head. Grabbing his croquis utensils, he begins scratching on the white paper.
He was a bit shorter than him.
He was wearing a blue scarf.
His eyes were brown.
He had a beauty spot underneath his —
Was it left or right eye ?
What was his hair like ?
Was it long or was it short ?
Did he even have a beauty spot in the first place ?
Wasn’t he actually taller ?
His memory kept messing up with him.
Frustrated, he tore the paper, meaning to redo his drawing until his mind made him doubt.
What was i meant to draw ?
Who was the man ?
Where did i met him ?
Have i even met him ?
Why did i want to draw him ?
Was there even a ‘him’ ?
Like that, the memory he tried to recollect disappear one by one, even before he had the chance to imprint them on a piece of paper.
The second day, San felt a deja vu.
He was sure he’d seen this man somewhere, but can’t remember where. After all, a face like his would be one to remember.
They had gone through the same set of conversation that San was absolutely sure happened before.
His memories jumbling on and on in his head and he hated it, so this time, he grabbed an empty sketchbook under the pretense of bragging about his major to the strange man and started to draw.
It was not easy to draw someone while hiding your sketchbook on your lap, so that day San only managed to draw a rough sketch of his face, not forsaking the beauty spot under his left eye.
The mistake he made that day was that he didn’t write his name down, so later in the night, before the last piece of memory about the man evaporated he wrote down the one thing he’s sure is related,
A Tale of Two Cities.
The deja vu felt stronger on the third day.
San immediately recognized the man with the beauty spot the moment he entered the shop. He grabbed his sketchbook then followed him suit, bringing the book which title is written down on his sketch in his hand.
It had worked.
The man had asked for that very book, and they talk again.
San continued his drawing, and now he managed to get to his hair.
He has a beautiful raven hair which length goes as far as his neck.
This time, he wrote down the man’s name.
Wooyoung.
The fourth day they spent outside.
San, having finished his sketch — and with the name written there — didn’t bring his sketchbook this time.
His only purpose was to find out who this mysterious man was to him. Why he drew him on his sketchbook but doesn’t remember any single thing about his whereabouts, why he felt such familiarities around this beautiful man.
So that day they talked a lot.
San wrote anything Wooyoung told him on the note inside his phone.
Wooyoung.
A thousand years old.
No family, no phone.
Likes A Tale of Two Cities.
Visits the shop at three every saturday.
He had offered to get an ice cream on their way home, and when Wooyoung kissed him on the cheek he felt something he cannot explain.
How could he possibly have a feeling this strong for someone he’d only met the first time ?
It pretty much scares him.
He was awake all night long, trying to fit the puzzles in his head.
The sketches.
The name, Wooyoung.
The book, A Tale of Two Cities.
The suffocating feeling inside his chest, one that feels like you’re in love with somebody you never met.
He think and think and think and think, he’s thinking so hard his head’s baout to explode —
Then suddenly he remembered.
Memories flashed into his head like a reroll of a movie. Replaying from the very first moment they met, from his promises — about his aunt, to show his art, to make the man his model — to the very last kiss on the cheek which he hadn’t even forget about yet.
Everything made sense now.
He had met him before.
He had met him, and it’s as if he was under a spell since their very first meeting, but somehow he couldn’t seem to remember.
And now he does.
Tears flow down his eyes at how overwhelmed he felt.
The man was called Wooyoung, and he was the most beautiful man he’d ever seen, and he had a sad glint on his eyes like he‘s hold centuries worth of pain, and they talked a lot about Sydney Carton’s sacrifice for Lucie Manette.
He remembered.
Every. Single. Thing.
So the next Saturday, he waited for Wooyoung to come back to his shop.
It was 3 PM but the man hadn’t came.
He waited until 4, still no signs of him.
He didn’t close the blinds at 5, in hopes that the man might come back.
He kept the lights on at 5.30, deciding that he could open the shop for a little longer today.
He almost gave up until he saw a figure who’s now familiar.
The man with the neck-length raven hair, a beauty spot under his left eye. He walked into the shop with a confused face, and San greeted him with the warmest smile on his face, recognition on his eyes.
“I thought you’d never come.”
There was once a king who prayed for his son’s life to the god who only listens when it gets dark.
He had asked a healthy, immortal life for his son, not knowing the price he had to pay.
The boy lived his neverending life, always looking as beautiful as ever, without anyone to remember him.
He had met millions of people — forgotten every single time — until centuries later he finally found someone who tried to remember.
Someone who’d take an effort to keep pieces by pieces of him in their memory.
And that was all it takes to break the curse.