[FIC] The Story

Title: The Story
Characters: Sungmin, OC
Rating: G
Wordcount: 1.608
Summary: As she reads a story, she remembers her past.
A/N: Originally a fic in my own language about another band, I translated this to English & added in an SJ member because I still love the story line even after all these years.

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A cigarette’s smoke makes its way up to the sky from the wet asphalt it’s resting on. The thing has just been thrown there by a lonely young man. He is staring into oblivion, his hands tucked away into the pockets of his coat. It’s cold. So cold that his breath is creating fog in the air. The streets are slippery and hardly any cars are driving around anymore this late. The night is pitch black, since there are no street lights in the little alley he’s walking through. It’s quite a woeful city he was born in and has now returned to, after so many months. He doesn’t mind. He feels good there. The city is as pitiful as his life, the streets as dirty as his heart, the houses as old and damaged as his soul, the roads as well-known as he is himself. He sighs. No one knows he’s walking here. No one cares who he is for now, and that is a very rare thing. With the tip of his shoe, he crushes the remains of the cigarette, before continuing his earlier course. The rain that has stopped only moments ago, starts again. Steadily falling drops on the rooftops, the walls and the ground. A harsh wind comes up, making the raindrops fly in his face. It doesn’t bother him. He is only happy about it, for the raindrops hide what he doesn’t want to show; his tears. Tears that flow because of who he once was and what he has become now. Close to nothing.

Tears have formed in my eyes as well. My chest feels like my heart could break out any moment and I’m breathing with a lot of effort. I’m chained to my computer screen, ignoring everything around me. Outside it is raining and the wind heavily blows through the trees, making this story seem all the more real. It feels like I could go into the city and find him there, walking through the alleys. Sadly enough, it is not possible. It hasn’t been possible in years. He was here once, a long, long time ago. Once, he walked around in my house as if it was his own, but not anymore. It hasn’t been like that anymore for ages. He has probably forgotten all about me as well.

He continues his path through the rain. His hair gets blown in his face, making it hard for him to see. Yet he doesn’t stroke it away. What does he care? A little bit of annoying hair doesn’t even come close to what he’s facing on the inside at the same time. His feet are automatically leading him to the big, white building. At least it was once white. Now it’s more white-with-a-lot-of-dirt-in-big-need-of-a-paintjob. Upon seeing the familiar building, a slight smile crosses his face. That is, if the partly raised corner of his mouth can count as a smile. It disappears immediately after, when he pulls his key out of his pocket and enters the building. He carefully closes the door behind him, making sure that it doesn’t get blown closed and thereby cause a lot of noise. He doesn’t want to be noticed. Not at this moment. Slowly, he starts walking up the stairs, counting every step as he does so. The elevator has been broken for years and no one has ever made an effort to have it repaired, so everyone living in the apartment uses the stairs. Nine stores and one hundred and seventy-two steps later, he reaches his destination. He puts his hand on the door handle and stares at the door for a moment. It has got the same colour as the building. White-with-a-lot-of-dirt-in-big-need-of-a-paintjob. Suddenly, he pushes down the handle and opens the door. He takes his first few steps onto the roof. At the edge, he stops to look out over the deserted city. Here on the roof, the wind has a lot more power. His hair is blown in every direction. His coat is trying to follow the example of his hair, but is hindered by his hands, that are now tucked away in his coat pockets. Slowly, he steps up on the edge of the roof that is made a little higher than the rest. He looks down, balancing on the edge of life and dead.

I sigh and take another sip of my cola. I really hope the young man is not going to jump, because it really seems like he wants to. He seems so real. Just as real as the one who has probably forgotten all about me. Who am I to be remembered by him anyway? Just someone from the past. I have never forgotten about him, however. Every day I think about him. About the line of his face, the warmth of his smile, but especially the sadness in his eyes. Sadness of which I have never known how it has gotten there. Sadness of which I, every time I see him in an interview or a show, have to realize that it doesn’t lessen. Without realizing it, my eyes are pulled back to the screen and I continue reading.

For a long while he stares into the night. He doesn’t even notice the thousands of stars that shine brightly in the night sky. He does not see the full moon that lightens up the city. His heart is beating in his throat and the tears are meanwhile continuously finding their way over his cheeks, mixed with the heavy rain. A lightning bolt suddenly flashes through the night’s sky, but he doesn’t respond to it. Unaffected he turns to look at the city below him. At the empty, polluted street where he will end up if he takes one wrong step. Right at that moment, the young man takes a decision. He turns away from the lifeless view and jumps back onto the roof. He cannot jump. Why would he? It isn’t his time yet. There are so many things that have to be done first, matters he still has to settle, people he has to talk to and concerts he has to attend. It hardly is his time. With a much quicker pace than before, he walks back towards the door. Without hesitating, he pulls it open and rushes down the stairs. There is no time for doubts or delay. He has to get out of this apartment as quick as possible. He has to get away from the dull hamlet as quick as possible. The one hundred and seventy-two steps seem like only forty as he rushes down. It doesn’t matter anymore to him that people might hear him and might wake up because of him. From now on, he can be heard again. From now on, it doesn’t matter anymore. Nothing matters except for his goal. He knows exactly what his goal is and will not be stopped by anything or anyone.

My eyes flash towards the clock of my computer. It’s three in the morning. I stare at the words again that have touched me so much. Words I could swear that are true, but of which I know they aren’t. It just isn’t possible. With a sigh, I turn to look at the window. Outside, rain is still falling down steadily. A strong wind is blowing and occasionally, a lightning bolt flashes through the sky. It is impossible that he is really walking around in this city again. He has been famous for years, why would he still look back at this gloomy place? Unless what I read is really true. I take another sip of my coke and turn back at my screen to continue reading. My heart is beating like crazy because of the tension. I wonder how the story is going to end.

His feet lead him to a place he hasn’t been in years. A place where he had always felt comfortable and where he could always go to with his doubts. It surprises him that he has not thought of the place before, but he’s happy that he is at least going there now. His eyes anxiously scan his surroundings, making sure he is still in the right place, following the right road. In the end, he reaches a house. The house he had been going to since the very start, without really knowing it himself. Out of a lifelong habit, his hand goes up to the bell. He pushes it without hesitating. There is no doubt anymore. Not now that he’s here. Finally home.

Surprised, I find out that there is nothing more. The story has ended. What an ending. Almost disappointing. What house has he arrived at? Where is home? Suddenly, the bell rings. I’m barely able to keep myself from spilling coke as I jump up in surprise. Who is crazy enough to be at my door at a time like this? Immediately, my eyes flash back to the screen. Could it..? No.. Impossible. I get up and carefully walk down the stairs. With trembling hands, I turn the key two times and open the door. A cold air brushes against my skin, making goose bumps appear on my arms. I look at the person who has rang the bell. My heart misses a beat. With big eyes I stare at him. I open my mouth, but find myself unable to say anything, so I close it again. After taking a deep breath, I try again. One sentence that simply confirms everything I have just read. Every word, written by a totally unknown person, becomes true because of that one sentence.

“Sungmin, you cried?”