Chapter Text
The city is strangely monotone tonight. Or perhaps it’s simply your anticipation settling over your hearing like a nervous haze, blunting the usually piercing sounds.
Exhaustion seeps deep into your marrow, and you absently swipe through your social media accounts, blindly taking in the current events.
It’s already close to midnight. You would have been home several hours ago, but still your feet find themselves glued to the sidewalk. You’re standing just a few meters away from the entrance of an obviously luxury penthouse. The wide glass panels that scale up the side reflect that brightness of the street lamps and if you squint, it kind of looks like space.
It was like this the last loop too. You had been in the right place, the right time to help them. To help her…to help him.
Sure enough, your hearing finally clears as the commotion from an upper floor precedes the shattering of a window.
Your heartbeat quickens. Your legs tense, and you’re aware of the pain that’s coming.
You run to catch the delicate figure that arcs through the air. Bits of glass dangerously fall around you with laughing clinks.
Her long brown hair trails after her, and she looks remarkably like a shooting star against the flaring city lights.
You calculate it just right. Sharp pain lances through your arms as she lands roughly on you. But you do better this time. You use your own weight to break the momentum, biting back a shout of pain as you roll both her and you across the ground for a bit, dissipating the impact.
Distantly, beyond the pain that makes you sob and her harsh breathing, you hear them call her.
“MC!”
Stars burst behind your eyelids, and you try and regulate your breathing to stop your sobs.
She’s stirring against your broken body, a string of apologies for you breaking from her.
“I just wanted….I don’t know…I’m so sorry
..I wanted to be free.” She cries, and you try to offer a smile, to say something comforting…really you do, but if you open your mouth, you’re going to scream.
So you let yourself disconnect for a bit, drifting off to be suspended amongst the stars that appear if you shut your eyes hard enough.
It was Jumin’s route. It was Jumin’s penthouse she’d jumped from. Jumin’s concerns and possessiveness that had driven her to make the leap.
It was Jumin’s money that brought you here to the luxury hospital suite. A room which, even as a physician at this hospital, you’ve rarely had the chance to see. Both your arms wrapped in thick white casts and your cracked ribs wrapped up expertly. You even have a few bandages around your neck and on your cheeks covering where the glass had cut.
The sheets are nice. Probably a very high thread count and they’re a pretty creamy shade. Not the stark white ones you’re so used to seeing your patients in.
You’re hopped up on pain meds, and the whole situation seems a bit funny as you begin to laugh.
You laugh so you don’t break in more ways than you have.
Your lips twitch into a smile, slightly hurting because they’re so dry. You close your eyes for a bit more, lamenting the bright sun that sweeps cheerfully into your room.
“You’re finally awake.”
You know that voice. You’d know in a million different universes.
Opening your eyes is going to hurt if Seven is here. Because in some ways, he’s brighter than the sun…and unrequited affection is a troublesome thing to hide when he’s so observant.
Still, you do a pretty good job of pretending that you don’t know him.
You let your eyes open again, just the tiniest sliver. The room is a scene done in watercolors through your half gaze, and the shock of red hair leaning against the plush claret colored armchair is a lot less jarring than it was the first time.
“Who are you?” You ask quietly, your voice slinking past your parched throat with difficulty.
(You know who he is, of course. It’s hard to forget the man you’ve dedicated half your time to.)
He stands up without a word and pours you water from a glass pitcher at the end table closest to him.
His golden eyes glimmer with a deep gratitude. There’s slight amusement that accompanies his look as your struggle to sit up.
But it’s a useless endeavour with both your arms wholly buried in their casts. You end up flopping on the bed, rolling from side to side like a turtle on its back.
His laugh is warm..lovely. It sends unwelcome tendrils of affection lacing through your chest. Your eyes open fully when he carefully slips an arm behind your back and props you up slowly.
It’s painstakingly careful. The way he handles you, the way he pauses with trembling anxiousness when you hiss out in pain.
His other hand holds the frigid edge of the glass to your lips.
“Drink. Please.” He says haltingly, and you wonder why there’s that distance in his eyes now. The kind that let’s you know that his cogs are whirring against each other, rapidly chewing up any and all information he can gather.
You drink gratefully, swallowing huge gulps nearly embarrassingly and some of it dribbles down your chin.
His face warms considerably as you try and wipe your face against your shoulder, but the thin hospital gown is no good and you try and protest as he uses the sleeve of his black jacket to do so.
“Thank you.” You mutter, and decide that this is as much illumination as you can take without the light burning your feelings onto your face.
He chuckles and sets you back against the probably swan feather pillows.
He treats you like an old friend…but that’s probably entirely because you’d just saved the love of his lifetimes.
(He loves her. Always. Unfailingly. No matter whose route it is.)
“I am 707. Defender of Justice.” He announces abruptly, that beloved humor of his slipping over his expression to bury whatever it is he’s thinking.
You laugh again. Only more carefully to avoid hurting your ribs.
“That’s a unique name. My name is ____. It’s uh…nice to meet you, Defender of Justice.”
(It’s such a safe answer. Said as easily as if it had been programmed into you. But it’s not because you’ve been practicing how you would respond to him ever since the loop restarted.)
Before you can say anything else. He lets that broad smile fall. Lets his eyes remain entirely serious and earnest behind his orange striped glasses.
It’s almost too much when the tears bead his lashes and he crumples back into the armchair.
He buries his face in his hands, his voice muffled as he speaks.
“Thank you…thank you for saving her. I don’t know…I’m so grateful…if you ever need a favor…anything…I’ll be there…just ask.”
You know you’ll never ask for a favor. That’s just not the kind of person you are…but you are glad he’s happy. You’re glad she’s alive.
But some secret part of you…the selfish part you rarely ever indulge…hopes with all its horrible might that this time line stays.
That maybe she and Jumin make up. That maybe she’s found the one she wants to stay for.
But you can’t let yourself wish for that. Ever.
You don’t say anything then. You let his tears dry up without a word, and you merely wave away his thanks with a distant response.
“I won’t just let her die. It wasn’t right, even if…even if she would have been fine. Is she…is she okay now?”
(You don’t notice that the tenses of your words don’t mesh. They don’t fit. Just like you.)
Seven looks at you with the strangest mix of confusion and comprehension, but then he relaxes and tells you that apart from a few broken bones and a broken heart, MC is recovering nicely.
He looks like he wants to say more, but the door bursts open, and you’re swept away by a tide of gratitude that comes in the forms of the rest of the RFA members piling into the room.
You almost feel like you’re suffocating. You’re not used to attention. There’s entirely too little air to share with everyone,and blessed, wonderful Jaehee notices this right away.
She corrals an excited Yoosung and an effusive Zen away from your bedside. Seven hangs around the back of the group, fading into the backdrop a lot more than you’d like to think.
(It’s as if he’s waiting to disappear.)
“Thank you so much for saving our friend.” Yoosung says quietly, and somehow, he’s contained all that excitement and shoved it into the sweetest expression.
“We really….we’re blessed that you were there for her. Thank you so much.” Zen chimes in, unusually subdued now that he can get a good look at your face. He hands you a bunch of yellow daffodils, the pink cellophane crinkling as he sheepishly notices that both of your arms are out of commission.
“Sorry.” He says, placing them delicately on the bedside table. You try and give him a small reassuring smile.
“It’s fine. Your charm is uh just a little disarming.” you remark offhandedly.
And that does it. The laughter ripples through them, something gentle and relieved.
Your voice gets caught in your throat again, and they’re all so wonderful. But they’re not your friends.
You’re an intruder into a series of events that spiral and latch onto these wonderful people like a weed.
And you’ve never been the best gardener. You’re so used to letting the weeds overrun your garden, choking out the vivacity of your flowers.
You’re worried you’ll mess this up again…but the antique clock..the one encased in cherry wood…marks the passage of time.
The door creaks open one more time. It’s Jumin.
He’s smoothing down the lapel of his immaculate suit, and if you hadn’t known any better, you wouldn’t have been able to see that he was downright tired and sad.
You want to glare at him, but he’s brought you the best care and he already looks shattered and you supposedly don’t know anything.
But if MC is heartbroken, this isn’t the ending that will stay.
—-
You were right. It happened overnight. You all went back to about ten days ago.
The sun sieves in through your gauzy curtains, and you bury your tears into your pillow.
Here we go again.
—-
It’s getting hard to remember when time started going in circles for you.
Monotony was not a thing you particularly enjoyed, but it’s what your life had spiraled into.
It was the same shifts at work. The same things said. The same people flitting in and out of your days that had clued you in to what was going on.
But no one else had seemed to noticed.
You’d seemed to have disconnected from the general consciousness of time. You were a lone cog spinning misguidedly in place…careening into a dim little place where you could never see different stars.
But you hadn’t been alone when you realized it. You’d been so close to falling apart, lost as to how to get out of an looping existence.
You hadn’t known anything, and you’d simply ambled across the city after work. Your hands tucked into pockets of your gray jacket.
The rain was misty and cold, and your red scarf hung uselessly around your neck. Your wet hair was plastered to your forehead and yet the frigid night could hardly touch you. You were deeply distant. Withdrawing from a reality that made no sense.
Disconnected because it hurt to much to think about a future if the same days repeating.
Your feet were the only things you really took notice of, letting your boots slips harmlessly into puddles on the sidewalk.
Somewhere through your haze, you had recognized the striking of a bell. A gentle, wavering toll that resounded in your chest and threaded through your muscles until you were walking in that direction.
You’d never been a particularly religious person. You’d never been a regular at your family’s place of worship and the concept of something beyond the stars was a little hard for you to fathom
So it was with no small amount of surprise that you had found yourself in front of a pristine white little church. It was tucked in between two high rises, nearly hidden behind a copse of great oaks and the bell sang merrily beyond them.
But this was something different. A change of pace. The only thing changing on a haze of looping days.
The cold was beginning to numb your nose and without more deliberation, you went up the pathway and quietly slipped past the open doors.
And you thought that at eleven o’ clock on a weekday night, it would just be you and the priest.
But someone else was there. A lonely figure bent over in a pew, his hands clasped and his head bowed towards the giant cross at the front of the aisle.
You didn’t really pay him any mind. The only thing vaguely outstanding about his appearance had been that bright red hair, like sunset on a roses, a few residual raindrops catching the light.
Still, you needed to be next to a person. Because the people you love and know had slowly been drifting into predictable patterns. You feared the silent curiosity that makes you test their responses, that made you mess with the order of things to see if you could get different reactions on the same day.
You didn’t look at him as you slid into the front pew and settled yourself in the corner closer to the middle aisle.
He shifted a little, and you could feel his gaze on you, but you had already clasped your hands in your lap and bent your head.
You were not really praying. You were too busy thinking. Your eyes closed against the gilded brightness of the altar. There was a barely settled peace that crested your emotions, and you finally felt the stays in your heart fray open, letting your despair fill you to the brim.
The tears spilled past your tightly shut eyelids, and you bit your bottom lip to stop the strangled sobs.
You hoped the only other person here won’t notice.
But maybe you wanted him too. You wanted someone…anyone to act differently from a preset pattern.
And he did.
He had been remarkably silent as he had stood up and settled in closer to your end of the pew.
Something is pressed into your loosely twined fingers. The small package crinkled merrily, almost reassuringly and surprise pried open your eyes until all you saw was a starry flare of red. Followed by kind golden eyes behind ridiculously striped glasses.
His smile was soft as he nods to the package of tissues he’s placed in your hands.
“Are you okay?” He asked quietly, and you recoiled a bit, wariness making your breath hitch.
He was so patient with you and you merely nodded, the nonsense explanation of being stuck in a time loop knotted in your throat.
You swallowed it down, and replaced it with a hasty “thank you” as you opened the tissues and used one to dab at your raw cheeks.
He waited.
“It seems like you have some tissues to work out.” He ventured, and his smile this time was edged with mischief.
Something different. Something disconnected from the patterns and you responded in kind.
“Thank you. It never crossed my mind that a church was a good place do that.” You said with a watery smile and a pointed glance at the silver crucifix hanging on a delicate chain against his black jacket.
He laughed and you suddenly felt a little shy, so you turned your gaze down into the pile of tissues you were starting to wrinkle in your nervousness.
“Do you want to talk about it?” He settled quietly, his laughter bitten off into a careful question.
Again, the cogs within you spun uselessly, grinding painfully against your reason and logic.
You were silent for long enough to make him anxious. He wasn’t too close and wasn’t too far. A good, respectful distance.
It was almost adorable. The way he raised his hands in front of him, his smile straining as he tried to explain himself.
“I know I’m just a stranger. I’m sorry, this is a little weird, but it’s just…I’m usually alone here and this is different…and sometimes…it really helps to talk about things…even just a little. I mean usually a priest would be a better option, but he stepped out for a bit and…”
His explanation wound down into a frustrated sigh, his hands threading through his unruly hair.
It was your turn to laugh. It was a horrid shattered thing, a shard of humor stained with gray. But it was sharp enough to cut a window into reality.
And through your haze, you found your words tumbling out.
“I’m stuck. I can’t move forward. I’m trapped and I can’t do anything about it.”
He was surprised, that was for sure. He hadn’t expected you to answer and he fidgeted a bit with the headphones settled around his neck, contemplating.
“I know the feeling.” He finally answered.
You couldn’t say more. He would think you insane for the full explanation, but you supposed your small confession sufficed.
There was a certain lightness to your chest. A bit more room for air to fill your lungs.
“But there’s always a way…to move forward. There’s always something you can do. You can figure it out. Whatever is causing you to feel this way, you have to first find out why it’s keeping you stuck.” He said.
And it was the clarity of his statement, the absolute total obviousness of it all, that formed your epiphany from gray desperation.
He did not know what do when you burst into tears once again. But this time, you cried because there’s relief.
A direction you could move in. You made a decision to solve the puzzle, even if you would be alone.
For now, there was a beautifully bewildered person next to you and the rain outside is desolate, but you were warm.
He didn’t introduce himself that time. The time line had reset the next day, but you were filled with hope.
—
The problem with hope is that it wanes so easily.
The loops pass without much change. You gather your knowledge, but you make mistakes.
You’re an outsider, floating helplessly in a dangerous tide.
There’s a strange organization. A boy with bleached with white hair that looks a lot like the one you hide your feelings for.
There’s good endings and bad endings. The one thing they all have in common is that none of them stick.
The day you’ve had enough is the day you decide to wrap a red scarf around the bottom half of your face and pull the hood of your yellow raincoat low over your face.
It’s the day you arrive an hour earlier to the church than you did the first time. The day you deliberately avoid meeting 707 and you place a hastily sealed envelope in the corner of the pew where he always sits.
The priest, a kind faced old man with a graying beard, watches you quietly as you slip away into the rain.
You wonder what the answer to the question you left behind will be.
—
Seven receives a mysterious message. It’s something that sparks a realization, something terrifying that shreds through every other mundane and deadly worry that’s plagued him until now.
The envelope is nondescript, the writing unfamiliar. It sits innocently enough on his usual seat.
The priest isn’t around to ask about it, and stuff like this is usually tied to something sinister.
But there’s a really bad drawing of a cat on the underside and that’s somehow less reassuring.
The contents shatter his usually controlled emotions, and make him feel so tired. His thoughts fray and he feels disconnected.
‘I’m so sorry. She chose someone else again. At least the party sounded like it went well. And Yoosung will be able to see again…soon.
What path do we follow tomorrow, 707?’