Chapter Text
I'm back.
The dusty air, unfamiliar to him after such a long absence, bothered him considerably. He waved his hand in front of his face as he walked toward the station exit. He had endured a three hour train ride to get here and felt exhausted.
No airport had ever been built here, perhaps there had been no need for one. The local people weren't wealthy enough to fly, and those who did have money never returned once they left. He understood better now why he, too, hadn't visited for years. Society here was rotten, anyone with a brain would want to escape, and would leave at the first opportunity. You wouldn't likely feel any attachment, even if you’d spent your childhood here or called it home. Anyone who managed to climb out of that pit knew exactly what kind of hellhole it was.
It had developed, certainly it was different from how it had been ten years ago. There wasn't as much illicit activity as before. Yet, it remained the same old, desolate town. Cars used to rarely cross the bridge back then, mostly because few people owned them. Now, however, every passing vehicle seemed to be straining the structure; its collapse felt imminent.
There had been absolutely no effort toward renewal. The very concept of urban regeneration was unheard of here. Narrow streets, old shops. Wait—wasn't that the shop where he used to come to buy records? Its windows were broken now. In the past, the place would never have sat empty for a moment. It was curious, too, that it hadn't yet been taken over by local youths who used drugs.
After asking around, he finally found the place he was looking for, an old bookstore with a print shop attached. It was a dusty, makeshift sort of place, with plastic sheeting covering the broken windows. It was chaotic, the sight of tables piled high with papers at every turn had left her weary. As her eyes scanned the area, she spotted the stand she had been looking for. It belonged to the author of a book nominated in the "rising stars" category. The author was from this town.
c'est la fin
He quickened his pace, heading straight for it while ignoring a stack of papers he had accidentally knocked over. He hurriedly picked up the book, he couldn't stop his hands from trembling at that moment.
" Can I help you? "
Ignoring the man who had called out to him, he opened the first page. He sighed when he saw what was written there. No, it was the same even here. He couldn't possibly not have seen or known about it, could he?
From Great Sapol, for Miel...
He paused and looked at the man before him. Contrary to what he had imagined, he was a young, tall man wearing round glasses. Understanding what lay hidden behind his frozen gaze, he smiled.
" Were you planning to buy it? "
A small question, just a few words. For some reason, the question stung, yet there was nothing but a smile on the other man's face.
" Do you happen to know how I can get in touch with the book's author? "
Even though the question took him by surprise, his smile didn't fade, there was just a slight nod, followed by a swallow. After all, the name he had heard most often over the years, how could he not know it?
" Did you come to get an autograph from me? "
That was the moment Junior felt his blood begin to boil. Without a second thought, ignoring the difference in their heights, he grabbed the young man standing before him by the collar. The other man, however, seized Junior's wrists and broke free from the grip in one swift motion, a move that sent Junior stumbling backward.
" How do you know my Miel? Answer me! "
The taller man was even more taken aback by this display of anger. He brushed off his clothes, glanced briefly out of the shop, using his physical advantage, grabbed the other by the wrist and hauled him toward the back of the store. When he released him beside a small table, the gesture clearly served as an invitation it was as if to say ' I'm open to talking, just calm down first. '
As they sat across from each other, Junior took the book he had been reading out of his bag and placed it on the table. He had read this book over and over again, countless times. He had read it by emphasizing every single word, etching them into his mind so he would never forget. He had read it while hating himself more with every page, consumed by the bitter realization that he had failed to foresee how one action could lead to another. He wanted to pretend the book sitting on the table didn't exist. He truly wanted to destroy this book, one that burned his hand when he touched it and made his conscience ache.
" Ah.. now I get it. Junior? Is that you? "
At Great's question, Junior narrowed his eyes, he let out a scoffing breath and crossed his arms over his chest. He was on the verge of tears, yet he refused to let it show.
" So, You don't even know the person whose story you're writing. " He paused and leaned forward. " How long do you intend to keep chasing popularity by releasing a book you didn't actually write? "
As if expecting to hear this, Great reached for the book, opened the first page, and traced his index finger over the text. He paused his finger specifically at the line indicating whose name it was written under.
"I wrote the book, as you can see. I make no claims beyond that. "
It was true, he had never claimed to be the book's actual author. He was merely the one who had written it, on someone else's behalf. Yet, for some reason, this only infuriated Junior further.
" How could you write about me, without knowing a thing, entirely one-sidedly? Was I cast as the villain by someone who didn't even know me? "
Great let out a breath. Selfish, he thought. After all, if Junior hadn't been selfish, if he hadn't left, if he had been the one staying here. Great would have written his story by hearing it directly from him. How, and by what right, was he asking this question now?
" Is your fame the only thing you care about? Are you afraid you’ll be torn apart by the public once they find out you were the villain? Don't worry, the book wasn't written to make me famous. It reached the very place it needed to reach, after all that’s how you managed to find your way back here after all these years. "
Junior bit his lip, he wasn't going to cry, not in front of this man. He bowed his head, clenching his hands into fists and pressing them against his hair. His voice now held a tone that bordered on pleading, his anger was directed at himself, anyone could see that.
" It’s not true. That’s not how it was. That wasn't the reality. "
It was as if he wanted to alter the past simply by denying it. Yet, he was right. Ending that had been written wasn't the truth. It was a figment of imagination, perhaps crafted to bring solace to a soul, to allow it to finally find peace.
But they didn't know. He had returned, long ago, unable to find what he was looking for, he had been forced to leave in despair again.
" He wanted it this way. He chose to believe in and hold onto, the happy memories as his last ones. "
This time, his sobs could be heard. His frail body shook uncontrollably, as if crushed beneath wreckage. He was finally asking the question he should have asked at the very beginning.
" Where is he? Just for once- "
His words were cut off sharply, Great was adamant, he hadn't looked this angry even when he had grabbed him by the collar. He rose from his seat, which let out a loud creak as he did so.
" You can't see him. I won't let you taint those memories with your presence again. So, just go. "
Junior practically scrambled to his feet, his pleading grew more desperate as he rubbed his hands together. Great turned his head away, he couldn't help it.
" He doesn't want to see you, I can't let it happen. And don't come back here. You're just excess weight for this town now. It has no need for you."
Then, shoved out of the shop, Junior was left alone in the middle of the street. Just as he had been years ago. He collapsed to the ground and wept, but to no avail.
He was a stranger on streets that felt familiar. Or rather, he was a familiar face walking streets that had become utterly alien to him.
My Miel, I will find you again one day, I promise.