𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔪𝔦𝔫𝔲𝔱𝔢 𝔥𝔞𝔫𝔡

by kpopandqueer

Summary:

time is not a force to be reckoned with

 

although i fear we may already be too late

Chapter 1: the minute hand

Time is not a force to be reckoned with,

 

 A peaceful town on the outskirts of Paris doesn't deem itself to be one of many secrets. 

And that is, in fact, the case. 

While the secrets are not many, 

The secrets certainly are there,

And it haunts the simple streets at nightfall. 

Where there is a tall building, 

Snug within the neighbourhoods,

And winding up and up to the sky. 

Decked top to bottom with bookcases, 

Knives and clocks of all kind.

Christopher Bahng, the owner, 

Is not particularly friendly. 

He doesn't get very many customers, 

And when he does they do not come back. 

A lonely man he is, 

With stories tied to his soul,

Of which that he could never tell. 

While ravens bring him jewellery,

And his secrets bring him hell. 

Maybe one day he'll finally have a reason,

To stop bending the rules of time itself, 

To stop running from mistakes,

And to stop making them as well. 

Maybe one day someone, 

Who understands his sorrow, 

Doesn't fear his presence,

And doesn't run from horror,

...

Might just be the one to change him,

And fix the clocks that keep winding backwards.

 

although I fear we may already be too late.

Chapter 2: 1:00

time is not a force to be reckoned with,

 

Tick. As the clocks mark the next second passing.

 

Creak. As the floorboards acknowledge a new, unfamiliar presence.

 

Bang. As the door shuts and there's no turning back.

 

Footsteps. As the mysterious owner saunters down the spiralling staircases with his long, dark coat flowing behind.

 

A sharp inhale. As Minho questions why he came inside the old, creepy clock shop anyway.

 

Oh yeah, his idiotic friends. Minho mentally agreed with himself that this was officially the last ever time he chooses 'dare'. Ever.

 

He braces himself, expecting some sort of angry old man to come grumbling into the main room of the shop (the one with clocks covering the walls and dangling down from the ceiling, all ominously ticking in sync every second. Not a single one out of time.) But he was left surprised.

 

Thoroughly surprised. 

 

There was a man that came clicking his low-heeled black boots into the room. But he was not old. Nor did he appear particularly grumpy. More like cold and harsh, rather than rude or something of those sorts.

 

Minho's head tilted subconsciously, his mind automatically questioning what he was seeing as if it was entirely by instinct. The natural urge to wonder why things aren't the way you imagined they would be. Even if nothing ever is.

 

This man had dark brown, almost fluffy, hair that was a few inches short of being classed as a mullet. His coat was long and fell down to his knees, hovering around his grey and surprisingly casual jeans whilst dangling over his white, freshly ironed, buttoned-up shirt. 

 

He was fairly young, a bit older than Minho's age of 23 but no older than 35. And Minho could not lie, he wasn't half-bad looking on an attraction basis. 

 

Despite his cold and bitter demeanour and the uncomfortable atmosphere of his shop - both things being the reason nobody ever really went inside (and if they did, they did not return again) - Minho didn't feel as much as scared away as he did utterly intrigued.

 

The man didn't speak. Neither did Minho. Minho had no idea what to say.

 

It felt as though the walls were whispering to him, muttering something along the lines of telling him to escape or run away. But Minho?

 

Minho couldn't do either. 

 

Was it a conscious decision? Or some sort of string tied to his body and pulling him in and in and in until he was too deep into the unsettling rhythm of the clocks ticking and shine of the freshly sharpened knives along the back wall to be able to do exactly what his brain's fight or flight response was telling him to do: run.

 

And now, he had no choice. No choice but to speak. Before the mysterious man did so first.

 

"Uh, hello. I'm Minho."

 

"Minho, huh? Well, you can call me Chris."

 

although I fear we may be too late.

Chapter 3: 2:00

time is not a force to be reckoned with

 

It was odd. 

 

Minho wasn't afraid of Chris. Nor was he afraid of the tense and ominous atmosphere of the shop.

 

He was almost... content. Being there, no matter how unsettling the dangling knives and simultaneous ticks of the clocks were, he felt at peace. 

 

He didn't understand it.

 

Neither did Chris. Who was wondering why Minho didn't look more fearful or hadn't left yet, as if nobody had ever willingly stayed inside for that long unless they desperately needed Chris' services. Chris wondered whether or not Minho was there willingly, or whether he was dared (like many people are) to go in and stay inside for a certain amount of time.

 

They'd been stood in silence since their introductions for about five full minutes, Chris was slowing rising in impatience. So much so that it felt like the amount of times the clocks had ticked was increasing, as if it was speeding up. So Chris had to part his lips and speak, before it got out of hand. Before it became noticeable.

 

"Can I help you... Minho?" Chris asked, breaking the silence as the tick of the seconds suddenly returned to their usual pace of rhythm. His voice was quiet, crisp and not low but thick - accent wise and just in the way the sounds fell from his lips. He eyed Minho, the younger man, with intrigue and almost confusion as he appeared to be lost in daydreams and caught in some sort of a trance.

 

That wasn't so much of a good sign as it was a bad one.

 

"Oh? Oh, sorry, um I'm not sure. My friends made me come in here but... it doesn't feel all that bad."

 

And that was a phrase Chris had never heard anyone say to him before.

 

So, in a swirl of panic and tension, he span on his heel and darted back out of the room. Leaving the trail of dark energy lingering in the air, the clocks ticking faster than usual and Minho standing in pure and utter confusion.

 

"Hello? Chris? Did I- um, woah, why are the clocks ticking so fast? They weren't like that a second ag-"

 

Before Minho could finish his sentence, a gust of wind - strong, fast, rough and powerful - practically grabbed him by the arms and tossed him straight back out the door. 

 

He was left slightly distraught, brushing himself down on the concrete floor outside and looking up at the ever so mysterious, ever so intriguing shop of clocks, books and knives that was known as 'The Minute Hand'. 

 

The next question is simple, will Minho be returning?

 

The answer however, is far more simpler than that.

 

Yes. Yes he will.

 

although i fear we may already be too late

Chapter 4: 3:00

time is not a force to be reckoned with

 

"Hello?" Minho called out, stepping onto the creaky floorboards as he shut the door softly behind him and began walking further into the shop. "Chris?"

 

No reply. 

 

"It's Minho, I had a couple of questions to ask you."

 

Silence. Except for the quickening pace of the clocks' rhythmic ticking. 

 

"Oh my god, how do they do that? Am I imagining that because I swear those clocks keep getting faster..."

 

A hand. Across Minho's mouth.

 

An arm. Across Minho's chest.

 

A voice. Whispering softly, "Shh, don't fight it."

 

Minho stopped squirming, stopped desperately crying out for help. 

 

He relaxed. He obeyed. He had no idea why.

 

He was chucked down onto a chair and his hands were locked behind him - he had no escape. 

 

The room was dark, mysterious. The man, who Minho presumed was Chris, wandered around the room - lighting candles as he did so. Bringing a spark of luminance around the room - soft, gentle but enough to even out the intense atmosphere by just a touch.

 

Chris sat down in front of him, his face finally visible. He held no expression. No emotion. The clocks were nowhere to be heard nor seen.

 

Chris crossed one leg over the other and leaned forward - staring directly into Minho's eyes.

 

He spoke. One word at a time, slow, steady and clear. 

 

"Why, Minho, why did you come back?" 

 

The question was confusing to Minho, why wouldn't he? His interest had been piqued and he was curious, so he returned to find out more. He didn't understand why Chris, an obviously very lonely man, would be so adverse to somebody actually returning to his shop. He simply just did not understand.

 

"What do you mean?" He replied, vaguely and calmly. He was collected but that did not mean he was calm. He could be in danger and he wasn't willing to risk making a mistake that would cause it to become that way either.

 

Chris sighed, tugging at the cuffs of his shirt - Minho hadn't noticed that his jacket had been removed until then. "I mean, what so implored you as to return the next day to my shop? I cannot recall one moment where that has happened to me before."

 

"You can't? Don't you get lonely?" Honestly and with sincerity, Minho responded.

 

"No. I can't afford to not be lonely, Minho. It's never worth such a risk. So why, Lee Minho, did you take the risk of coming in here a second time?"

 

"How do you know my last name?"

 

"You really are full of questions, aren't you Minho?"

 

"I believe you have asked me more questions than it ever was the other way around, Chris." Minho stared blankly, coldly, at the man - who had the same expression staring right back at him. It was almost like the world's most unsettling staring contest. "Blink, I beg of you."

 

Chris let out a light, soulless but still there, chuckle. "I'll blink when you answer my question."

 

"Fine. I felt drawn to this place. From the moment I stepped inside. You intrigue me, this entire place intrigues me and makes me feel like I never want to leave while also desperately wanting to run half way across France to get away from here. There. There is your answer."

 

"Ahh, thank you. Lee Minho."

 

"How do you know-"

 

"You'll find out soon enough. Now, go make your way out. Mind the knives at the top of the stairs, since we did go down some. I'll be expecting you this time tomorrow."

 

although I fear we may already be too late

Chapter 5: 4:00

time is not a force to be reckoned with 

 

Chris tapped the side of the counter top impatiently, his fingers rhythmically syncing with the clocks.

 

He was late. 

 

Chris was not the sort of person to tolerate being messed around by people, particularly when they cannot show up on time.

 

But it was the first time Chris had told Minho to come. So he was willing to let it slide.

 

Then there was the ding, the bell above the door that Chris never removed for the sake of it being a warning to him when anyone arrived at his shop. 

 

And this time - for the first time - it was exactly what he wanted to hear. As then he would hear a....

 

"Hello? Chris? It's Minho, I'm back again like you asked me to be." Minho called out, stumbling in probably due to the fact that he was staring at the ground. He noticed something carved into the stone flooring through the entrance. A phrase. Although he did not think too much of it. "Oh, you're right there. You really were waiting for me..." Minho noticed, when he finally lifted his head.

 

"Indeed I am. Next time, look where you're going. It'll prevent you almost tripping over yourself when walking in through doors." Chris spoke, hints of obvious sarcasm lacing his thick-accented voice. Surprisingly, Minho hadn't thought too much of the Australian accent coming from a man living in Paris. He knew people from all over the world lived in his home city so he didn't question it.

 

Minho didn't ask himself hardly enough questions about what he was getting himself into.

 

He didn't question the Australian man in his mid-30s who owned the most mysterious and unsettling shop Minho had ever seen. He didn't look too much into the way this man suddenly switched from wishing Minho would leave him alone, to seemingly trying to pull him in closer into his intriguingly scary life. And he didn't overthink the carvings in the stone ground leading in through the door way, the unfinished phrase.

 

'Time is not a force to be reckoned with.'

 

although i fear we may already be too late.

Chapter 6: 5:00

time is not a force to be reckoned with

 

"You're back." Chris muttered, yet again for the 5th time that week. Minho had been coming into his shop for seven days, almost exactly at the same time each day. And always exactly as the minute hand clicked and marked the next minute. And only ever between the five to the hour and the five past the hour.

 

This time. For the first time. He was there directly on the hour. When the hour hand meets the minute hand.

 

"I'm back." Minho replied, as he had each day. "And dead-on time by the looks of it. How've you been today, Chris?"

 

"Pondering." Was all he got as a mysterious and vague reply. Chris was leaning against the counter top, a cigar between his lips with grey and dirty smoke surrounding him that came from it. Minho approached him, step by step and ever so slowly. He got closer each day. Like he was being drawn to him, whether by a piece of string or a pen and paper.

 

"Pondering on what?" Minho asked, with genuine curiosity as he ducked beneath a hanging clock that he'd made the mistake of almost walking into previously that week.

 

Unlike Chris, he learned from his mistakes. Rather than ran from them.

 

"You." 

 

The way the words slipped from his tongue as an ominous whisper sent a dozen shivers down Minho's spine, although he didn't dare flinch. The minute hand hit the five past the hour, with a loud echoing click as every single clock did it perfectly in time with the others. Chris didn't make mistakes when it came to time. He used it to cover up mistakes he makes outside of the ticking clocks.

 

"Me? What about me?"  Minho asked another question, his eyes lingering on the floor. Something about that day was different, felt more and more like the walls were screaming at him to run than they even did on the very first day he was there. So he didn't dare lock eyes.

 

"You... you are familiar. To me. Have I met you before?"

 

The clocks, they quickened. Quickened until they were perfectly in tune with Minho's racing heartbeat. His eyes darted around the room, his breath caught up on itself as he gasped for air. The sharpened knives shined brighter, the clocks ticked rapidly and Chris almost appeared to be fading away. 

 

Minho clutched his chest, pulling at his shirt drastically as his eyes searched for the exit in the walls that seemed to be closing in on him. And suddenly his head began to tingle as he recalled one singular memory.

 

But it was not from his past.

 

"MINHO! MINHO? WHERE ARE YOU? MIN, PLEASE, LISTEN TO ME! I'M- I-"

 

"CHRIS, I TOLD YOU. I CAN'T-"

 

And he was out the door. Panting as he caught his breath and he stumbled backwards, racing home.

 

He had had a flashback, although it can't really be called that. As it was not from his past, but from his future.

 

although i fear we may already be too late.

 

Chapter 7: 6:00

time is not a force to be reckoned with

 

Despite it all, Minho found himself right back at the shop the very next day. 

 

His eyes locked with Chris' the moment he stepped inside.

 

Chris' eyes were dark. Hollow, even. Like they were an endless void of nothing and everything all at once, like a black hole sucking Minho in and keeping him trapped inside.

 

He still had no idea what kept drawing him in to come back into the shop every day. And his confusion was only increasing. 

 

As well as his fear.

 

He had every right to be scared, especially as every day something more terrifying sends another shiver down his spine and he feels less and less safe. 

 

And still, he returns.

 

"I don't understand." He muttered, as his eyes couldn't pull themselves from Chris' unfaltering mysterious gaze. 

 

Chris didn't move his body, or his eyes, or anything except from his lips. Clearly and articulate, they formed the words. "What don't you understand?"

 

For a moment, it felt like Minho was being controlled. Like Chris was controlling his mind. But he wasn't. He'd learnt from that. It was not possible.

 

"This. All of this. Why I keep coming back? Why you are the way you are with me? Those words in the ground? That vision?! All of it!! It's terrifying and I don't understand." Minho exclaimed, rambling on as he flailed his arms about as he desperately tried to get his point across. To make his fear and confusion as clear as the gloss slowly slivering into the bottom of Chris' eyes.

 

Minho, for a split of a second, could've sworn that what he was seeing was tears. Tears slipping into Chris' eyes as he displayed an emotion for the first time since the first day.

 

"What?" Minho whispered, the words falling from his tongue despite the lack of intention to do so.

 

"You had a vision?" Chris replied, his voice quieter than usual. Almost sorrowful. But Minho was unable to tell.

 

"Yes! It felt like a memory, a flashback of my future. A future I didn't understand. It was foggy but you were there, the same age as you are now and I was almost that age too. We were in a shop, just like this one but it wasn't quite as dark. And you had a ring on your fourth finger that matches the one I found in London when I went a few years ago. I wear it around my neck. I don't understand. But I know you do."

 

CLICK. The clocks all struck, loudly, menacingly. And this time, one clock was out of time by a split second. Minho and Chris both heard it.

 

Chris' head snapped straight to look at his watch. "When the hour hand meets the minute hand." He mumbled, but Minho heard every word. Because, it was in fact straight upon the hour. "Minho." Chris spoke, clearly and firmly. "Leave."

 

"What? No! I'm not going to le-" The wind rushed and the doors flew open, crashing back together once Minho was gone. Outside, on the ground and entirely unconscious.

 

"My love, I cannot learn from my mistakes if you remember what they were in the first place. We've been here before, and yet I try again. Try to pull you back in. But darling, I cannot risk it again." Chris let a tear drip slowly down his cheek and hit the ground, the one singular out-of-time clock ticking as it did so.

 

although i fear we may already be too late

Chapter 8: -7:00

although i fear we may already be too late,

 

It was a cold December Saturday in London when a news report had been sent around the city - sending everyone on alert. The headlines were clearly exaggerated, but that did not make them entirely a lie.

 

Psychotic 'Time-Controlling' Mad Men Found Guilty Of Murdering Multiple People And Keeping Their Bodies In Their Basement

 

Minho rolled his eyes at the sight of it. "We keep them in the attic, they need to get their facts right. Don't they, honey?" He chuckled, speaking to his husband who was far from focused on what was being said to him. "Honey? Everything okay?"

 

No reply. Chan was staring straight out of the window, eyes dark - almost hollow. Lost in thought. 

 

Minho immediately stood up, sensing the tension emitting from his husband's odd behaviours. "Chan, love, are you alright? Something on your mind?"

 

"You."

 

time is not a force to be reckoned with

Chapter 9: 8:00

time is not a force to be reckoned with

 

Chris was lost in thought. 

 

It was the next day, slowly heading towards the time that Minho would normally arrive. But this time, he would not.

 

Because Chris wasn't risking it this time around. 

Or maybe, he was just afraid. 

Who knows.

 

Maybe he was afraid to make the same mistakes he had made before. Even if he went as far as to bending time itself to realign himself in another timeline and wait for Minho to find him and love him once again. 

 

But meanwhile, he keeps pushing him away when he gets too close. Scared to hurt him the way he did before.

 

Maybe this time Chris can remind himself, that time is not a force to be reckoned with. 

 

"Get a grip on yourself." He muttered to himself, running his hands through his hair in exasperation. As the realisation hit him that he had forcefully shoved Minho out the door and torn the memories of the shop, and him, from his head. And he wasn't coming back. 

 

Right?

 

Click. The clocks struck to mark the hour. All in sync. Where the hour hand meets the minute hand.

 

"Hello? Chris?"

 

although i fear we may already be too late

Chapter 10: -9:00

although i fear we may already be too late,

 

"I really do find it ever so interesting how you control and manipulate the time, Minho. I always have, you know? How this shop is the centre of it all is so interesting, not to mention the naming of it." Chan spoke, curled up in his lover's arms as Minho caressed his dark brown locks so gently and so carefully. "The Hour Hand. You're so smart."

 

"Thank you, honey. But really, I couldn't be what I am today without you. Truly. I might be the hour hand, but you my dear, are my minute hand." He muttered, voice quiet and low but Chris heard, listened and understood every single word. He always did. It's something Minho adored.

 

"Do you think we're bad people? Sometimes I wonder if doing what we did and what we do is bad? Y'know, killing people and bending the time frames to cover it up. We've even erased entire people from existence. Sometimes I fear it'll catch up on us."

 

Minho was almost taken aback from the words that had left his husband's lips. "Well, we did it for good reasons. And that's what matters. Darling, we'll be alright. If we have each other, we'll always be alright."

 

"I love you, Min."

 

"I love you too Channie, now let's get some sleep. We'll take whatever comes in the morning." Minho whispered, readjusting his position slightly, as did Chan. Before they slowly drifted off into dreamland. Taken away from the horrors of what may or may not be reality and finding peace in a world that does that exist. That cannot destroy them. And that cannot be tampered with.

 

time is not a force to be reckoned with

Chapter 11: 10:00

time is not a force to be reckoned with

 

"Minho? How- what- oh my god." Chris rambled, most of what he said coming out as incoherent mumbles beneath his breath.

 

"What? What are you on about? What even happened yesterday? That wind? I passed out, Chris! Now I'm concerned and confused and desperate for answers, okay? So give me them or you will never see me again." But Minho's reply was much more intense. 

 

That wasn't the first time that Chris had heard those words before. It wasn't the first time he'd heard them from Minho either. 

 

"Chris?" Minho repeated the elder's name, tapping his finger against his elbow with his arms folded across his chest. 

 

He was impatient. 

He was serious.

 

"Minho, please, this isn't something I can explain to you!" Chris practically pleaded, running out of ways to conceal his emotions - the intense and overwhelming emotions he felt. Tears slipped down Chris' cheeks, his knees dropping to the floor and dragging his entire body down with him.

 

But that wasn't even the worst part of all.

 

The clocks had stopped ticking.

 

"I really don't understand." Minho muttered, unsure of what to do. His eyes traced Chris' body - his slumped, exhausted body. Something had taken far too big of a toll on him, and that was perhaps his fault. 

 

They always say don't play with fire. But they never tell you not to mess with time. 

 

"That's so fucking ironic." Chris replied, his voice rough and his words spoken in the form of harsh attacks into the air - sobs ripping and tears staining as the whirlwind of Chris' emotions only grew stronger. "Because you were supposed to be the only person who ever did."

 

although i fear we may already be too late

 

Chapter 12: 11:00

Time Is Not A Force To Be Reckoned With

 

Chris remembered how he broke Minho's promises. Every single thing he swore he'd never do after he lost him.

 

He swore he would never mess with time again.

 

He swore he would never let the clocks tick too fast again.

 

And he swore to let Minho go, and to not search for him after he was gone.

 

Chris also swore to Minho on their wedding day, that he would always find him again no matter what.

 

One promise kept overshadows many broken, right?

 

Chris remembered staring into Minho's eyes as he laid in his arms and the life in him drifted away. He remembered so well how he died protecting Chris from the dangers of breaking the barriers of time itself.

 

He remembered the way he waited, 23 long years, lived but never aged and never changed and never went anywhere. Waiting for Minho to find him again. In the shop of which he had named such as a similar name to the one that him and Minho had owned together back in London, back in the other timeline.

 

That was the original timeline. The real one, should we say. But Chris refused to carry on in that without Minho, even though he knew he would be the only one left with those memories. So he broke the walls and transported himself into a different timeline, waiting until he was able to meet Minho again. He didn't understand it, but he had not aged and would not until Minho caught up to him and was 35 as well - when they were back where they had left off. He waited for this for what felt like forever, because if he had to wait forever - he would've.

 

But now Chris is there, sobbing brutally on the floor of his shop with Minho staring down at him in confusion and concern. Because Minho was slowly and steadily recalling the memories of a future in his past and if he realises Chris broke his promise, fucked up the rhythm of time even more and potentially ruined everything even further than how it had already been destroyed, what would Minho have to say?

 

Maybe Chris fucked up. Or maybe he's right. Maybe Minho was only ever supposed to be the one person that knew and understood and could bend the time frames and mess with time itself like it was nothing but a toy and he was a child. Maybe Chris should have never come into Minho's life in the very first place, when they were 23 in the London streets and he stepped into The Hour Hand clock shop for the first time.

 

Because the clock strikes disaster when the minute hand meets the hour hand.

 

Although I Fear We May Already Be Too Late

Chapter 13: 12:00

time is not a force to be reckoned with

 

Minho hadn't told Chris about the many more visions he had experienced. Minho hadn't told Chris what he knew. What the puzzle he was slowly piecing together really was.

 

Perhaps Minho could now honestly say that he knew too much, or still just not enough at all to conjure a valid answer. An answer to his many, many questions.

 

An answer he knew Chris wouldn't give.

 

One of his visions, his so-called 'memories' of a future in his past, stood out among the crowd of at least 10 he'd had so far. All in their varying lengths and clarity.

 

One of the things he had said in that very vision had caught his attention in particular. It was a phrase he knew very well. Too well. 

 

But he had no idea where he had heard it.

 

And he definitely did not know what the end of it was.

 

It began so simple and ever-so true and sounded so much like it must've been a warning. A warning of things Minho was yet to understand and of things Minho was slowly becoming more aware of. 

 

'Time is not a force to be reckoned with...' 

 

But Minho had no idea what came next.

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 14: -13:00

although i fear we may already be too late,

 

"Minho? What's wrong?" Chan asked cautiously. The room was darker than usual, the clocks were slowly ticking less and less as if time was slowly down entirely. His husband was facing away from him, on his knees with his hands near to his head. 

 

Chan was confused, his gaze scoured the room - everything was wrong. Everything was out of place. Knives and glasses were shattered, sharp remnants of the once perfectly kept-together and timed objects were now scattered everywhere. Chan had to watch his feet as he walked, careful not to step on anything and make it worse.

 

His eyes were on everything all at once, his hand reaching over to place itself on Minho's shoulder. He almost did. But then Minho suddenly turned sharply around. His eyes almost pale white as he stared up at Chan, the colour was drained from his face and his glare was menacingly psychotic with his widened pupils and bloodied fingers. His hands were covered in the liquid in all shades of red, glass sprawled across them. That wasn't the Minho that Chan knew and loved. 

 

That might just even have been a glimpse of what was to come of the past in Chan's future. The person he'll disconnect from reality to become. 

 

"Min-" Chan muttered, the single word barely floating out of his lips like nothing but a puff of smokey, grey air. Like from a cigar caught between his lips, making his speech inaudible and unclear. Making his life, his future, his past, his everything: unclear. 

 

"Chan, Ch-Chan, help." Minho coughed out, the last piece of him calling out for help he won't be able to receive. "I- I broke the clock. I smashed it. I ruined it all, I'm sorry. I'm sorry Channie. I messed it up. Please- please forgive me. Please don't make my mistakes again. Please. Baby, please. For me? Save yourself. For me." 

 

Chan was speechless, his heart already aching as it thumped in a painful, loud, throbbing and relentless beat in his chest. The clocks were getting quieter, fading and slowing down time. Drifting away. 

 

"Baby-" Minho choked once more, prompting Chan to immediately drop to his knees, pull his husband straight into his arms and hold him right up to his chest as tight as humanely possible. "I- I love you. I'm sorry... for what I did. Pl-Please, don't make ... my mistakes" 

 

"Darling, you don't need to apologise." Chan whispered, pressing his lips to Minho's icy cold forehead. The clocks ticked once more. "I promise." Chan spoke a final phrase, as Minho let out a final gasp and the life drifted out of him with one final tick of the clocks. 

 

A single tear fell onto his faded and pale skin, as Chan let his husband go.

 

Only, that was the one thing Chris could never do.

 

The clocks suddenly returned to the usual pace, perfectly in sync, not a single one out of time. All except the one on the floor in front of Chan, broken but not destroyed. Just like Chan himself. 

 

He picked up the piece of glass beside it, lifting it to his face and staring at it like he had nothing else he could do.

 

A raven had come into the shop and perched itself onto Chan's shoulder. It looked at the reflection in the glass just like Chan did. With a smile lingering on his lips. 

 

time is not a force to be reckoned with

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 15: -14:00

it's already far too late but

 

Minho was fully aware that what he was about to do was going to mean putting himself at entirely new levels of risk. He knew he was potentially killing himself, by taking the knife in his hands and stabbing the clock before him with it. Smashing it into millions of pieces.

 

But he also knew if the clock kept ticking, both him and his beloved Chan could be entirely destroyed by it. He wasn't letting Chris lose his life because of his own mistakes. He was willing to die if it meant dying to protect his Chan.

 

Minho knew that time was by no means a force to be reckoned with. It was something that should be left as it is. Something that should never be tampered with. Minho wasn't supposed to discover how to bend it, play with it and change it. He wasn't supposed to hold the power he did.

 

He certainly wasn't supposed to share that power with Chris, no matter how much he wished to show him and immerse him into what was once his incredible, fantastical world of possibilities held at his finger tips. 

 

He played a game he shouldn't have been playing. A game he should never have even started playing. 

Now it's time for him to pay the price.

 

But as he knows, it's already far too late. And that if he doesn't destroy it now, it'll fall out of his control and he will never be able to reverse his mistakes the way he used to do. 

 

He knew he'd have to beg Chan to give up on their way of life and even give up on him. But if it was to protect his husband? That's all he needed to know for it to be one hundred percent worth all of it.

 

The moment he broke the clock every other one began to click steadily slower as time virtually slowed down. His body began to fill with pain and the glass from the clock cut his hands and they began to bleed.

 

To him, it felt like the shop was shaking - knocking down the knives on the walls and shattering the glasses that decorated the room. Things were breaking down. And so was he. 

 

He knew he was dying. He could feel it. Feel it in his bones as it felt as if they hollowed until there was nothing left to hold him up. To keep him going.

 

When Chan found him, he held him as tight as he had the strength to do so. Weakening in the one place he felt strongest. He watched as a raven pattered its feet and wandered into the shop through the open window. He smiled at it with all the strength he had left, simultaneously begging Chan to not repeat his mistakes. Even if part of him had a rotten feeling that he wouldn't listen. 

 

Then he felt himself slipping away. A small part of him overriding the desperation for Chan to protect himself - with the hope that one day they might meet again. 

 

And that he could remember the person he was and the person he loved more than life itself.

 

time was by no means a force to be reckoned with

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 16: 15:00

time is not a force to be reckoned with

 

"Hey, Chris?" Minho asked the man, of whom was fully unaware of the new presence in his shop. Chris was turned away with his back leaning against the counter as he examined a couple of clocks on the wall behind it with an intense gaze lingering in his deep, brown eyes.

 

He jolted at the sound of the familiar voice, sending his head flying around in a defensive instinct. "Oh, oh hey Minho. You're back."

 

"Well yeah, of course. I've been coming back everyday, haven't I? But I have a question..." Minho was not hesitating to bring the topic of conversation he was eager to speak about into play. He had also stepped a few inches closer than usual towards Chris. 

 

"Hm? What is it?" The elder replied clearly. Although he'd be lying through gritted teeth if he said there wasn't even the slightest part of him that was concerned for what Minho was about to ask him.

 

Then there was a moment of silence. Complete silence. The clocks didn't tick. Both men virtually held their breaths. It was entirely as if time itself had stopped for a second, giving Minho the opportunity to speak.

 

Then the younger man let the breath he had been holding in, out. And his lips parted, preparing for him to speak. 

 

Chris watched him. He watched the way his mouth moved slowly and his voice whistled into his ears with immense clarity, as he asked a question Chris wouldn't have ever expected to be asked. 

 

"What was it that hurt you so much? What made you the way you are, Chris? Because there has to be a reason, surely." 

 

Chris didn't reply. He was still holding his breath. He was still frozen still. His heart was suddenly throbbing the way it did the day he lost his husband. The day time became his enemy and not his friend. The right people use their enemies to their advantage. Chris knows that.

 

"I-" He began, almost as if he was potentially going to open his mouth and be honest. But no, he couldn't do that. "It's nothing."

 

"No it isn't."

 

Chris' breath hitched. The man before him wasn't that different from the Minho that Chan once knew so well and loved so strongly. He still put up a fight and was stuck to his beliefs and thoughts. He was forever adamant and frustratingly stubborn. Yet it was always one of the things Chan admired the most about him.

 

"Whether it is or it isn't - it doesn't matter, okay, Minho? It doesn't matter and it isn't your business." Chris' voice was demanding, harsh and rough. He could've never imagined speaking to his Minho in such a cruel manner. But this wasn't his Minho. So it was fine. 

 

It was fine until the man spoke again.

 

"The visions I've been having say otherwise."

 

Chris held his breath again.

 

Chris didn't blast him out the door with the wind. 

 

No, not this time. 

 

He didn't try to wipe his memory.

 

No, not this time.

 

He didn't run away. 

 

No, not this time.

 

He looked Minho dead in the eye and let his destroyed and desperate mind do the talking. 

 

"Alright then. Tell me, Minho. What do you know?"

 

although i fear we may already be too late

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 17: -16:00

although i fear we may already be too late,

 

The clock. 

 

The clock that Minho destroyed and lost his life as a result.

 

That clock was one he'd had since he was 19, when he first found and opened up the shop. 

 

It was the first clock he ever fixed, and the last one he ever broke. 

 

When he had fixed it, he noticed that the longer he stared at it the more the hands shook slightly and rapidly from side to side - as if they were begging to be turned or moved. He had opened up the back, twiddling around with the dials and moving the hands until they did something.

 

But it only did something when he had turned the minute hand so hard that it broke off. Leaving just the hour hand on its own, facing up to the number 12 that was written in roman numerals. 

 

Yet, when Minho looked away or simply glanced at it - the clock would return back to ticking. A phantom tick from the minute hand that wasn't there and the hourly strike from the hour hand that followed it. 

 

Then whenever he looked at it for long enough, it would suddenly be right back at the 12 mark and shaking. Shaking until Minho discovered how to make it move with his mind.

 

Over time, Minho mastered it. He could control every clock in the shop with just that singular one, the one that hung behind the counter and that had the minute hand that ticked without it even being there. 

 

He could bend time, move time frames and reverse it. All done in what to him was seconds, even if he only controlled the hours.

 

If he felt stressed or strong, intense emotions the hour hand would race around the clock ticking rapidly and yet not changing time at all. 

 

Then he met Chan. Then he fell in love with Chan. And he showed Chan the clock, showed him how it worked. 

 

Yet he could not move the hour hand, he could not control it. So Minho merely gave up on teaching him.

 

It was months later when Chan found the minute hand sitting on the ground in the middle of the basement. He went to the clock, the one missing that very hand. He placed it inside the clock, clicking it into place and remembering what Minho told him about what he could to the hour hand. When he did it to the minute hand, it worked. He could control the minute hand and do all that Minho showed him he could, but only for him it was with the minutes. 

 

When Minho discovered this, they began to work together. The minute hand and the hour hand. Working perfectly in time. They would recruit a few friends of Minho's; Changbin, Hyunjin and Seungmin. They would help them kill bad and unworthy people, that they discovered were doing or plotting disastrous and dangerous deeds. And then they would bend time and cover up that they died and anything they planned to do. They even ended up becoming powerful enough to remove entire people out of existence - without harming a single other soul.

 

They were the anti-hero, did horrible things to prevent the even worse. 

 

But then, years later after they'd gotten married and dived deep into the world they'd created for themselves, they were starting to be discovered by the authorities and Chan started to doubt whether or not they were doing the right thing. Or whether or not they could cause damage to time itself if they weren't careful enough. 

 

It was one cold, November evening, when Minho said to Chan some very simple and unfortunately very true words. "Although I fear we may already be too late, time is not a force to be reckoned with."

 

It meant more than either of them understood at the time. 

 

Because then, in the darkest hours of the night when Minho was smoking a cigar out on the shop floor, he heard an odd rumbling noise coming from behind where he was sat on top of the counter. He turned around, and the entire clock was shaking. 

 

That was a warning. A warning that they had gone too far to turn back. 

 

So Minho had no other choice but to destroy it.

 

To destroy it all.

 

time is not a force to be reckoned with

Chapter 18: 17:00

time is not a force to be reckoned with

 

"I don't know enough, Chris. But I know something here is very very weird. Something to do with bending time? I really don't understand enough of this Chris, but I know something here is wrong. And that you know potentially even everything. I'm remembering memories of things I've never experienced, never done! Of my future? Of you! I don't understand enough. But trust me, I will eventually." 

 

Minho's arms were practically flailing around him as he physically emphasised what he had to say and his eyes didn't falter as they looked Chris dead in the eyes with a stare that said he truly meant the last phrase of his small rant.

 

It seemed as though Minho was finally questioning everything.

 

Chris kept quiet again. 

 

Minho didn't know enough, but he still knew too much and he wasn't going to leave his questions unanswered. 

 

Chan turned around, looking at the clock. Minho followed his gaze.

 

"What are you looking at?!" He demanded with a stern and fiery tone, he was determined now. Desperate, even. "Chris!?"

 

"Fuck." Was all the elder could muster up the strength to say. 

 

He couldn't believe what he was seeing for a moment. But he's learnt that when you play with time, there's not much you can believe. So he hesitated, muttering the word 'no' beneath his breath repeatedly.

 

"Chris, tell me what you're thinking." Minho spoke again, but not out of concern. Out of the insanity of needing answers to questions that leave you feeling scared to your limit when you don't have those answers.

 

"No." Chris said clear as day to make sure Minho heard him.

 

"No?" 

 

"No." Chris flew his body back around and stared at him, "Leave, Minho."

 

Surprisingly, the man obeyed and nodded as he swallowed down a gulp. He didn't know why he did any of those things. 

 

Yet he did. 

 

And he walked away. 

 

Leaving Chan to stare in horror at the clock - that once only had a minute hand - strike the hour with both hands.

 

although i fear we may already be too late

Chapter 19: -18:00

although i fear we may already be too late,

 

Chan smiled into the glass, or more so his lips turned slightly upwards at the corners. The raven was still sitting on his shoulder simply. And his husband's lifeless body still laid in his arms.

 

What he saw was not his reflection. It was not just a piece of shattered glass. It was what he saw behind it. He saw everything he needed to be able to do what he knew he had to do.

 

He had to fix clocks.

 

He had to fix that clock.

 

The only thing that was important that was missing was the hour hand. And that made his heart ache. But he knew, if he used all the power of him, the shop and the clock that he could do it. He could find the hour hand again.

 

He could find his hour hand again. His other half, his missing puzzle piece. His dear Minho.

 

He just had to do something he'd never done before and instead of moving time itself - he had to move himself with it, through it and into it. And he had to pray to heavens he didn't even believe existed, that it would work.

 

He just had to fight for his husband. As his husband was a man worth fighting for.

 

time is not a force to be reckoned with,

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

unless it has to be.

Chapter 20: 19:00

time is not a force to be reckoned with

 

It was never as if Minho wasn't good at deciphering confusing and complicated people. 

He'd done it his whole life. From the moment he became aware of the fact that he existed, he always felt like part of him didn't. Or as if there was a part of him missing entirely and he had no way of finding it.

 

Now he's no longer the only person in his life that he can't understand. 

 

Now there is Chris.

 

Minho understands fear. He understands being scared of things. Whether it's the common fears of the dark, thunderstorms or ghosts. He understands it. 

 

Minho's fears were less common. As he certainly understands the fear of the unknown, or of what you are yet to find out. Of the gaps left in anything. In himself. In the world he'd been plunged into the second he stepped foot in that shop.

 

What Minho doesn't understand, yet again, is Chris. He doesn't understand what Chris is scared of.

 

Or better yet, he doesn't know.

 

And that scares Minho.

 

Because what he does know, is that Chris, the shop and the visions are all t0 do with the void left empty within him - the one he never had an answer to. 

 

He also knows that there's a lot of things he doesn't have answers to. Answers that are also all to do with Chris, the shop and the visions. 

 

Minho understands fear. Although he rarely feels it. That's the exact reason he went into that shop in the first place.

 

Surely.

 

Yeah, his friends did dare him to go into that shop. But he returned willingly.

 

Now Minho feels fear. He feels fear in himself. And he sees it in Chris' eyes. Although the older man would never admit to that, he would also never give Minho the answers he so desperately needs.

 

Now he's in too deep to turn back and run from his mistakes. 

Part of him wouldn't even do so, if he happened to have the oh-so impossible ability to turn back time. 

 

If he was asked the question on which superpower he'd rather have: 'time-travel or mind-reading', he'd choose the latter option. Only so then maybe he could understand Christopher Bahng the way Christopher Bahng seemed to somehow understand him.

 

Or at least, it felt like Christopher Bahng could understand the part of him that Minho never could.

 

Lee Minho is a man who wants answers.

Regardless of how he has to get them.

 

although i fear we may already be too late

 

Chapter 21: 20:00

don't mess with it

 

Minho made it clear to Chris that he if he wasn't gonna get any answers out of the man himself, he'd get some in another way. So Chris wouldn't have to be so surprised when he discovers what Minho did. 

 

Minho was a smart person, he knew there was more to this than meets the eye. More to any of it, not just Chris or the visions. 

 

So that's why he was starting where for him, it all started. The shop itself. 

 

He wasn't going into this without a plan, he'd already scoured the outside of the shop for an alternative entrance to the main door - as he knew Chris would be alerted somehow or other if he came in that way. Especially at night.

 

So there he was, at 3am sharp. Right on the hour. Clambering in through the hatch door at the end of the alleyway outside the back of the shop, leading himself down to the basement.

 

When he got there, the lights were on, but Chris was certainly not there. Minho knew he was comfortably asleep on the top floor up in his bed, unaware of anything going on around him. 

 

Something about the place made Minho shudder, it made him question things. But so did all of the chaos he'd landed himself in. It just felt oddly familiar to him, like he'd been there before. Which he had, but it was for a short amount of time and it was almost entirely in the dark. This time it felt familiar to a level that felt unsettling as if he'd been there tons of times before. 

 

Of which was not the case. 

 

He brushed off the odd feeling and took it as a way to guide himself through the uniquely round room. As he seemingly understood where things would or at least could be.

 

He was careful with his footsteps, subtle with his movements and cautious as he flowed across the room with oddly memorised ease. He found himself quickly in front of a cupboard, it was locked shut but the key was already inside the lock. Minho, his hands shaking slightly, turned the key and opened the door. It revealed nothing but a simple box.

 

The box wasn't what intrigued Minho, nor was even the fact that it was locked away. It was the label on top of it.

 

'My hour hand' was what it read, which immediately rushed the reminders of many things to Minho's head. From the clock on the wall behind the counter which had no hour hand until only a few days prior to that night, to the times Chris had said phrases along the lines of 'when the hour hand meets the minute hand'. Minho immediately knew that meant something. 

 

Of course it meant something. 

 

He steadily and slowly lifted up the lid of the box and leaned it against the inside wall of the cupboard, peering into the box within seconds of opening it. The first thing he saw was all he really needed to see. 

 

He saw photos of himself, but it didn't look like it was him.

 

He lifted them into his hands, eyeing them each with careful consideration and with slight fear softly lingering in his veins. He looked older in these photos. He wore these slightly crooked, rectangular glasses and he was with Chris in every single one of the pictures. Chris looked different too. He looked more human than Minho knew him to look. 

 

He placed them to the side, moving onto the next item. The next thing was what must've been the very glasses 'he' was wearing in the photos. Seemingly in the same condition they had been left in, untouched or maybe just cared for, for however long they had been left there in that box.

 

And beneath that was a CD. Sitting in a jewel case at the bottom of the box, it had no label except for the letters: L.M. Minho's initials. There was a note right beside it, a fairly small piece of paper - despite the amount that had been written on it - that had been torn from a notebook of some sorts. The note appeared to be a letter and it answered so many of Minho's desired questions while still leaving him with many, many more.

 

Dear my beloved husband, my minute hand, my Chan,

 

If you are reading this, it means we've gone too far.

It means that I, myself, have gone too far.

 

My love, 

time is not a force to be reckoned with,

although I fear we may already be too late.

 

Run from it.

Don't bend it.

Don't bend with it.

Don't mess with it.

For it will mess with you.

 

Please, if I am no longer by your side, move on.

Don't hang on to me, don't hold on too tight.

 

Promise me that you won't make your own mistakes, or mimic mine.

And promise me that you will move on and life a long fulfilling life without me. 

 

Darling, our story has been a beautiful, chaotic tale throughout all our ups and downs.

As a child I dreamt of being an author but I did not go through with the dream.

Seems as if I wrote the most amazing story anyway. Ours.

 

Channie, my dear Christopher, let me go and carry on living. 

 

And don't let the clock keep ticking.

 

I might be dead now, my dear, but you are alive.

 

Carry on. 

 

I love you more than life. 

 

Yours sincerely,

The Hour Hand,

Bahng-Lee Minho.

 

 

Minho was in awe. More awe than he'd ever been before, and he'd seen some crazy stuff in the recent months of his life. He could not believe it, what made sense and what now - did not. He had no idea what to do with the information and he feared he would faint on the spot out of shock if he was to remain standing there any longer.

 

And so in a panicked frenzy of emotions, he rushed to the exit and clambered out of the hatch again. He travelled home as fast as he could, and left the objects lying out, the box open and the cupboard fully unlocked. 

 

for it will mess with you

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 22: 21:00

time is not a force to be reckoned with

 

It was too late.

 

Minho was in too deep.

 

Chris came down to the basement the next morning, he often did just to check everything was okay and to escape the echo of the endlessly ticking clocks. 

 

This time he could hear them anyway. Or potentially it was just the reverberations in his own mind, impacting his peace and screaming in his thoughts. Maybe he just had no escape to the ticking. Not when time was so deeply involved.

 

Not when time was being so powerfully bended with. Especially with the more and more that Minho came to know.

 

Chris was afraid. Afraid of the worst. Afraid of the best. He was simply: afraid. He would not and could not say more.

 

He wasn't really too sure what to do. Minho was slowly connecting the dots and now he knew that somehow in a another place, another world - he was his husband and they had been endlessly in love all the way up until the day of Minho's death. Now the love was left unrequited, left with the hope maybe it never vanished but merely hid away.

 

Hopeless hope. As stupid as the phrase sounded.

 

Christopher Chan Bahng had hopeless hope.

 

And the fear that grew did not overshadow that, as much as Chris wished it would. Instead it only grew with the fear, bubbled like a volcano burning inside of him. 

 

He feared it, the hope that had no purpose being called such a thing. He feared everything so much he wasn't even sure if fear was the right word to use anymore.

 

But it was because he was scared.

 

More of himself, than of anything else though. Why? Well, because if everything turns to shit? It's all his fault and he can't bend time to change that.

 

although I know we are already far too late

Chapter 23: 22:00

although i fear we may already be too late,

 

A rush. That's exactly what it was. A rush of inescapable force and memories. Of pain, of joy, of sadness and ecstasy. Of everything he'd ever done, ever felt, ever been through...

 

...but not in this life. Not in this timeline.

 

It was, to be put simply, mortifying. 

 

Minho even swore he felt really pain pulsing throughout his veins rapidly and relentlessly, particularly as he recalled - practically relived - his own death.

 

Finally, finally, Minho understood. He understood everything. Including, and most importantly, he understood who Christopher Chan Bahng was and what the missing part of himself was. 

 

Christopher Chan Bahng was a man that would risk his life, bend the laws of time and travel to the end of the universe for Minho. 

 

And the missing piece of Minho was Christopher Chan Bahng. 

 

Which was the very reason he was back in that basement the very next night, heading back over to the box of which was already back in its place. The sight of it being gone again sent shudders down Minho's spine, all because of the sudden awareness that Chris knew he'd found it in the first place.

 

Still, he took it out again, repeating each step to get to it. He ignored the no longer odd familiarity of the basement, he refused to acknowledge the way it felt like home with every click of his newly-bought, low-heeled boots beneath his feet. He opened up the box and reached right for one thing and one thing only, his glasses.

 

He, with purposeful delicacy, lifted them and placed them upon the bridge of his nose - adjusting them with a sense of memorised ease that he noticed but would not pay too much attention towards. That wasn't his focus right then. His focus in that moment was far more important and far more noticeable no matter how much he desired to blend into the shadows. 

 

The timing was terrifying, really. The also far-too familiar tapping of shoes onto the echoing wooden floor, the same old shoes he'd always worn for as long as Minho could remember. What must've been forever.

 

"Minho." He spoke, his voice making Minho's throat feel as if he had closed up on itself.

 

"Chan-" He almost spluttered out, seeming as though he was moments away from defending himself. He swung his body around and raised his arms in instinct, as he was - in fact - moments from coming to his own defence. "I can explain..."

 

He had begun to speak, begun to try and convince Chris that he was there for more than just 'snooping purposes' and forgetting that the man already knew he'd been there. But he stopped, immediately, when he watched Chris drop straight to his knees and start sobbing brutal, rough sobs and cry out in emotional distress.

 

Minho was taken aback by the sudden outburst of emotion, he'd never seen that before in Chan. Ever.

 

He wasn't really too sure what to do in the moment, but it shattered his heart and his soul to see him like that. So he did what his heart and his soul was telling him to do, he came down to his level and pulled the bawling man into his arms - holding him tight to his body in a way that seemed as though he'd been waiting forever to do that.

 

He had. He just hadn't known it until that day.

 

So he stayed there, comforting his husband.

 

time is not a force to be reckoned with

unless it has to be.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 24: 23:00

time is not a force to be reckoned with 

 

Minho held him to his chest, stroking the pieces of fluffy brown hair that sat upon the top of Chris' head and comforting him until he calmed down.

 

The man had been choking out incoherent words between sobs, although Minho could barely make it out as the repetition of his own name as Chris' hands grabbed tight onto Minho's clothing and he scrambled to make himself as close as possible to the man.

 

Chris had reacted like he'd seen some sort of ghost, which to him he sort of had. With those glasses upon Minho's face, he saw the person Minho now finally was and that he knew he was - Chan's husband.

 

"Chan-" Minho began to speak again, sensing the way the man had relaxed massively from the state he was in minutes before. 

 

"Don't call me that unless you want me to cry more, Min." Chris chuckled, pulling away from Minho's embrace and wiping the tears sheepishly from his cheeks. "Sorry about that, I- I don't know what came over me."

 

"No. Shh, darling." Minho shut him down in a surprisingly sweet manner, reaching to place his hands on either side of Chan's face. His touch was gentle, soft, delicate as if he was scared that if he held on too tight the man would shatter in his hands even if he basically had already. He leaned in carefully, slowly and steady as he fluttered his eyelids shut and pressed his lips onto the man's. 

 

Now he remembered everything.

 

Chan reacted rapidly, melting into the kiss like there was nothing else he wanted to do in the world. There wasn't. Because he had his Minho back and he knew he had his Minho back. He could sense it in the way he kissed him like he always used to back in the future in his past. Softly, but not for long.

 

Chan's hands gripped the sides of Minho's shirt and tugged him closer, tugging him so close that Chan fell backwards so far that he was lying down on his back and Minho was above him. They didn't break the kiss once. 

 

It was as if they couldn't.

 

Couldn't let go in fear that the other would slip away. 

 

The kiss deepened, tongues roaming mouths and hands roaming bodies. They were, a little less hopelessly, and definitely madly, in love with each other. And time is not something that would get in the way of that, not this time, not last time, not-

 

Ever.

 

although I fear we may already be too late

 

 

 

The Minute Hand, to be continued...

Chapter 25: 00:00

00:00

 

midnight.

 

where the minute hand meets the hour hand.

 

and loves transcends time.

 

 

no, time is not a force to be reckoned with.

 

neither is love.

 

which is more powerful?

 

take a wild guess.

 

after all,

 

although i fear we may already be too late,

time is not a force to be reckoned with,

unless it has to be

 

you've made this far, great job.

but the clock is ticking.

 

until mistakes catch up

 

and the clock smashes again.

 

hold on tight, brace yourself and wish anyone else along for the ride a shit ton of luck.

we'll all need it.

 

as after 00:00 becomes 00:01,

it's a new day.

it's a new cycle.

 

it's a new chance, for time to show why it was never a force to be reckoned with in the very first place.

 

although, i do fear we may already be far too late.

 

aren't we?

 

the minute hand and the hour hand

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 26: the hour hand

 

the clocks tick without a single one a beat out of time.

 

the only time anything changes is when the clock that holds the power to bend the time is broken.

 

that's when things go wrong.

 

but it happened once.

 

it can't happen again.

surely.

 

 

we are already far too late.

 

again.

 

and it needs to be said.

 

again.

 

Time Is Not A Force To Be Reckoned With

 

and it definitely is not something that is supposed to make sense.

 

 

When the Hour hand

 

Meets the Minute hand

 

and time collapses

 into nothing

but the mere concept it always has been.

Chapter 27: 1:00

although

 

Kisses, embraces, moments that might just have been taste-testers of heaven itself. The love Chris waited and risked a literal lifetime for. Oh it was so, so worth it. 

 

Worth it in every single possible way it could be worth it. Minho found the missing piece of himself, and the missing piece found what he'd gone to extreme lengths to have again. 

 

Worth it. So much so.

 

But something wasn't right. 

Something was very, very wrong. 

 

Neither of them acknowledged it. 

Both of them noticed. 

 

They pushed it aside. Just like they did with time.

 

They didn't touch it, didn't mess with it, didn't change it. 

 

But you know the phrase well enough by now, right? Already too late. There's no time left for fearing it now.

 

Time had been bended, it had been used for things it wasn't supposed to be used for. 

 

And while time passes, the events of it have been pretty notoriously known to repeat.

 

It's too soon to question it, right? Chris and Minho had everything they wanted, nothing could go wrong when they'd spent so long and fought so hard. 

 

Nothing could take the glasses from the bridge of Minho's nose and nothing could take the mistakes Chris made from their place in history. 

 

His mistakes weren't mentioned so much at the start of this story for no reason, you know. 

 

"Chris? Honey?" Minho's voice echoed through the building as he sauntered down the staircase towards the basement, in search for his lover. "Are you down here?"

 

His voice sounded awfully like something the clocks had heard before. In London. 

 

...

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 28: 2:00

i

 

Minho felt like the world had cursed him. Like it was purposefully trying to destroy him as many times as he would let it do so.

 

This time it was the second time. Yet he still let it. And he would let it again if it was for his love, his Chris. 

 

It just wasn't his body being deteriorated by the world. It was his heart. His heart and his soul. His mind had already decayed long before. His heart had only just been fixed back together and now it was being ripped to shreds again, only slower. 

 

It's as if he was still dying in a new timeline. In a new way.

 

A new way because it wasn't him dying. Even if it felt like that a little bit too much. Sympathy pains. Broken heart because at the core it's all his fault, he just didn't know it for 23 years. 

 

He made the first mistake. He pushed the first domino, letting them all tip and fall. His mistakes led into Chris' mistakes. Even if Chris had a choice to not make them, to not make the same ones. To not repeat it.

 

The mistakes Chris made, they were unforgivable. They were dangerous and he knew that fully throughout the entire time he did it. Minho knew that when he made them himself. But Chris knew the consequences all the more too well.

 

He merely did it because he had his reasons. He had his desires. He had love bursting in his heart that he would kill him itself if he didn't express it. Even if his fate was basically pre-sealed anyway.

 

He did it for Minho. The love he had was for Minho and only Minho.

 

It didn't cross his mind that maybe the history engraved in time would repeat itself.

 

That the minute hand would break because the hour hand had returned to its place.

 

Maybe Minho was cursed.

 

...

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 29: 3:00

fear

 

Minho watched it happen. Chris wasn't so aware of it.

 

What was the difference between the two of them that made their awareness of the situation so vastly different?

 

The difference was simple really. One of them had watched it happen. The other had lived it, felt it, experienced it but forgotten it.

 

So as the minute hand on the clock loosened and ticked slightly more and more out of time, Minho pushed his glasses firmly against the bridge of his nose and clasped his hands together. As he watched the days go by and watch how more and more things go out of place. He discovered how slow the process really was.

 

Not only that but also how much of a lack of power he held in the situation. He couldn't do anything to change it. He knew that.

 

He knew it all. He'd heard it a thousand times and so have you. We all have. He's seen it, in a distant memory of London. It's engraved into the floor. It's either the first or second half of a very true phrase. And it won't stop being brought up until it becomes reality. Again.

 

It's being spelled out before Minho's very eyes and he's watching his everything fade out of his grasp once again. This time the roles are just reversed. 

 

Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.

 

Minho and Chan aren't fools. 

 

But time is not a force to be reckoned with.

 

Although...

 

...

Chapter 30: 4:00

we 

 

Chris wouldn't admit it to Minho, but he felt it. The shift. The change of pace in every breath he took. The way life slowed, time slowed, like it was letting him embrace the last few moments.

 

He watched Minho pretend he didn't notice it happening too. He watched Minho believe that he was the only one who knew what was happening. 

 

But Chan knew. Of course he knew. He'd seen it happen. He'd let it happen. He was letting it happen again. He didn't have a choice. 

 

It's a whole new thing when you're strapped into the driver's seat and your foot is tied to one pedal with no way of getting to the other one. No matter how badly you want to put your foot on the brakes, you can't. You've been in accelerate since the first mistake you made.

 

He doesn't know what's worse.

 

Feeling it himself or knowing his dear Minho had been through it too. 

 

Or knowing Minho is feeling what he felt when it happened the first time and when the roles were reversed.

 

This pain, Chris knew something about it was familiar. That's how he knew that it was what it was.

 

He could see the same kind of fading in his own eyes when he looked into the mirror, that he could see in Minho's the days leading up to the moment they parted.

 

Thankfully, 'till death do us part' was not apart of their wedding vows. 

 

Death or time, neither of them are boundaries. Barricades.

 

Merely enemies. Chris and Minho are just willing enough to fight.

 

The question is... 

If you lose twice, do you give up or try one more time?

 

...

Chapter 31: 5:00

may

 

"Chris? What's wrong?" Minho asked cautiously. The room was darker than usual, the clocks were ticking less and less as if time was slowing down entirely. His lover was facing away from him, on his knees with his hands near to his head.

 

Minho was confused, his gaze scoured the room - everything was wrong. Everything was out of place. Knives and glasses were shattered, sharp remnants of the once perfectly kept together and timed objects were now scattered everywhere. Minho had to watch his feet as he walked, careful not to step on anything and make it worse. 

 

His eyes were on everything all at once, his hand reaching over to place itself on Chris' shoulder. He almost did. But then Chris turned sharply around, and Minho jolted awake on the perfect moment.

 

He couldn't stop his body from shuddering as he roughly wiped the sudden and hot tears that were slipping down his cheeks rapidly. He recollected himself with care and a lack of noise, careful not to wake Chris who was sleeping beside him, and he allowed himself to drift back off into dreamland. 

 

But Minho still felt off, things felt wrong. He'd seen that film before. He did not like the ending. 

 

And that's when he realised. 

 

Chris broke his promise.

 

...

Chapter 32: 6:00

already

 

 

 

run from it.

 

don't bend it.

 

don't bend with it.

 

don't mess with it.

 

for it will mess with you.

 

 

 

...

Chapter 33: 7:00

be

 

Perhaps unsettlement is the world's greatest feeling. The feeling of knowing something is not right in the scenario you are in but still having little to no knowledge of what that is, or control over any of it at all.

 

The greatest feeling of fear slivering down your spine like a snake being the shudder that is sent through you like a bullet. The greatest feeling of love that is so strong but the slight sense of knowing your heart is preparing itself to be broken. The greatest feeling of knowing life's greatest moment is coming - it's end - but not to yourself, not this time.

 

Minho is experiencing the greatest feeling. Unsettlement. The fuel of nightmares.

 

Minho's idea of a nightmare is the repetition of the history of his life that he had only just become aware of - but not the unfortunate events happening to him. He fears for the man that had fought to be with him. Pairing that with unsettlement is a recipe for disaster.

 

For death.

 

When the minute hand meets the hour hand.

 

...

Chapter 34: 8:00

too late

 

He saw the look in Chris' eyes. The way he kissed him softly, palms against either side of Minho's cheeks. The way he held him closer than ever before, the knowledge of reality hitting him like the hands on a clock reaching the midnight mark. It was midnight, in fact, in the moment. The moment Minho's world collapsed. In his arms.

 

Chris' grip on Minho's body was tight, he was holding onto him as if he was never going to do such a thing again. He wasn't. The clocks ticked rapidly, pulsing in and out of Minho's ears as the tears dripped out from the corners of his eyes and his hands shook around his love. His love that held the same fate he had, one formed by mistakes Minho had once made during the future in his past. 

 

"Minho..." Chan spoke weakly, his ability to hold himself on his own two feet was faltering and quicker than he'd imagined. Yet only one thing crossed his mind through the pain that was torturing him and that was knowing that Minho had felt this himself before, which only hurt far more to think about. "Minho, darling."

 

"Shh," Minho stroked the back of Chris' brunette locks with slow, gentle care, "Just.. hold me."

 

"Okay." He gasped sharply as another jolt of pain rushed through him and he felt his sanity slipping from his grip like melting ice. 

 

A small, only barely audible sob fell from Minho's lips, cuing for Chris to wrap himself around Minho as much more as he possibly could. As much as he had the energy left to do so. 

 

"Minho. Don't.. don't do what I did. Don't search for me again. D-don't make my mistakes. And don't break this promise. Please." Chris, choking out the words and falling weaker in Minho's arms. "I love you."

 

"I love you too." Minho whispered, feeling as the man went lax against his body and his final breath was released into the air. "I won't have to search for you, Chris. You're about to find me like you've been wanting to all this time."

 

.too . late.

Chapter 35: 9:00

time is not a force to be reckoned with

 

Time is a scary, scary thing. If you misuse it or abuse it, it will do the same for you. It will twist your perspective, pull shards of reality out of your grip and immerse you in shattered glass and ticking clocks.

 

What's even scarier is insanity caused by mere lack of hope. Chris lost hope when Minho died. Chris lost his mind when Minho died. Chris began to have hallucinations that twisted his entire world view, when Minho died.

 

He believed he could bend time, he believed he had transported himself from one timeline to another, he believed his husband had found him in this other timeline and he believed everything that you've been reading of - everything he'd believed. But you see, the entire time it was nothing but his own insanity, his own trauma and unsettlement manipulating his thoughts all because of one man who died before his very eyes. Who died of natural causes, in his arms. Who was Chris' husband.

 

Insanity, much like Chris believed time would, slowly kills you. Which is exactly what it has done to Chris. It has killed him and buried him and taken his life away.

 

All for the love of a man and a force that was never supposed to be reckoned with.

 

Time, or as some may put it, love.

 

and love certainly isn't.

Chapter 36: 10:00

Love guides you home and brings you to the place which you belong. The person you belong with and the person you call home. For Chris that was Minho and when he died alone in the clock repair shop that he owned, imagining that his lover was holding him as he passed - Minho was there, waiting on the other side.

 

In an afterlife, who knows what one. Perhaps it's one where people, or a few special ones at least, have the ability to manipulate time. Or maybe, it's just somewhere that Chris and Minho get to be together until all diminishes.

 

But at least, when Chris died at midnight, the minute hand met the hour hand. And no matter how much we were already too late. No matter how much time, or even love, is a force that should not be reckoned with. No matter what, it doesn't matter. Because these rules only apply unless they have to be broken. 

 

Thank you for diving into the wild, time-twisting love story of two men and the way time tells. I hope you know that it was never, ever supposed to make any fucking sense.

 

this has been...

 

the minute hand - minchan

 

FIN.