Chapter Text
What is the sunrise like by the river? What is true love? What does a person in love feel? What is grief? We look for answers to these questions in fine arts, and not even in actual people, but rather in distant ones — those who wrote their philosophical treatises hundreds of years ago on the opposite side of the globe.
The people close to us are too ordinary, too average — they offer no alternative perspective, only the same old thoughts. Different people will not understand at all and will reject our own point of view.
Different people are the most terrible thing that can be. They are far worse than distant people and even those close to us. They are right here, but they are not quite in the right place. Sometimes they know it, or at least have a sense of it, but sometimes they really don't.
The worst thing possible — a different person — for Min Gi was none other than Ryan. Not even just that, Ryan was different to everyone he knew, at least outside the train. It was difficult to even comprehend how he managed to stand out wherever he went, let alone how it didn't seem to bother him. When they were alone, they were different together, one for the other, only in opposite directions.
They sat side by side in the front seats, even though the engine was no longer running. It was a pleasant April night. The tinted glass seemed even more opaque because of the light turned on in the cabin. Wherever you looked, there were two faces in each of the windows — your own and someone else's. Sometimes it was difficult to tell them apart, because the other person's face became, if not your own, then very close to it. They no longer even studied each other's reflections, but just gazed incessantly, only occasionally focusing their attention on a particular aspect.
For example, Min Gi's attention was now focused on Ryan's lips, only briefly looking up at his starry eyes as he repeated, once again, what they both already knew well: their concert schedule was not very stable. Apparently, due to last-minute changes, which they should have been used to by now, they would have almost two days to spare before their performance in Wisconsin, and that was even taking into account the drive!
— Just imagine! We can even stop and sleep without taking turns, and we'll still have so much time left! I don't even know whether to laugh or cry. — Ryan gazed enthusiastically into the man's eyes in the rear-view mirror.
— Why on earth would you cry, now? — He smiled back, posing the rhetorical question that was already familiar to both of them.
— What can I even say? I'm so excited for our performance, and they delay it! I'm just so devastated! — Ryan dramatically threw his head back in his usual manner before looking at Min for the first time in a while, not through the reflection, and breaking into laughter. — Besides, what are we going to do the whole time?! We cannot just sit in the car all day, and we don't have that much money to hang out in the city.
— Motels are always cheaper in small towns. If there's something suitable on the route, we can stop there and figure out the rest later. — He paused, but seeing the dissatisfied look on his friend's face, he went on: — Sure, there's not much entertainment there, but at least we can take a peaceful walk in nature for once? We don't always have to rush somewhere... Don't be mad, I just want to... Get some rest, some time to think…
Ryan pretended to sigh sadly:
— Oh, Min, Min, time passes, but you don't change at all! — He looked at the guy condescendingly. — But this time I'll let you off. Honestly... — The man stumbled, — I'll admit, I'd like to have a little rest myself. You know, I may love it when everything is so... Rapid and intense, but when life is like that all the time, it feels like... Everything becomes dull, you know? — It had long been obvious that such a pace of life was tiring for Ryan too, but this was the first time they had spoken about it aloud. Min didn't answer, but instead ruffled his hair reassuringly. The other man leaned back in his seat, taking his companion's hand and letting his fingers trace his skin.
— Oh, Min, I'm utterly exhausted...! — He looked at the young man wistfully through half-closed eyelids. The other sighed and also reclined his seat to meet his eyes again.
— Do you want to sleep now and get going later, or would you rather I just drive while you sleep? — He turned to face Ryan, stopping the constant fidgeting of the other's fingers and intertwining them with his own.
— I don't want to sleep, — he muttered, looking down at their hands.
— That doesn't sound too convincing, — Min insisted. He wanted to find a place to stay first, since they had already planned to do so, and if Ryan fell asleep in the driver's seat, it would complicate things. — You can sit in the passenger seat for now, we'll talk on the way. If you don't doze off, that is. — With these words, he smiled and sat up, intending to get out of the car and switch places. He paused for only a few seconds, reluctantly and slowly parting with the man's fingers.
He stepped out and, without closing the door, walked around to the driver's side. Then he opened the other door, letting a gust of wind rush through the car. A few moments later, Ryan straightened up with a heavy sigh, and he offered his hand again, even though there was no necessity for it. They exchanged smiles, and stepping onto the ground, Ryan made a feigned curtsy before turning and proceeding to the passenger side.
The doors slammed shut almost simultaneously. Ryan waited until Min adjusted the backrest of his car seat to its standard position before tugging on his sleeve to briefly rejoin hands once more. Min hastily started the engine to give it time to warm up, then surrendered his hand to Ryan's mercy.
Sometimes it was quite nice to just sit quietly together. After all, they still had a long road ahead of them to enjoy their shared pastime. Min pressed his free left hand against the steering wheel. Everything seemed so perfect that it made his heart sting. Or maybe it was because of Ryan? He glanced at his reflection in the windshield, noting that he was smiling the whole time, his eyes closed, gently tracing circles on the back of his hand. He wanted to do something, but instead, melancholy flooded his being. Everything around him was so perfectly fine, and that only made matters worse.
He decided to take his hand away again, to make it in time before his thoughts and reflections finally drove him crazy.
The lights in the cabin switched off, the headlights came on, and with the usual jolt, the car started moving. The reflection of the two faces disappeared, as if nothing and no one had ever been there.
If only! Everything would be so simple that the mere assumption of such a life would prompt thoughts of degradation, if not of the entire human race, then of certain individuals. Although, who cares about the human race? Not only would void not make you think, it would completely rule out such a possibility, so what's the point of humankind? That's not to say one should delve into philosophy, especially such meaningless philosophy, but that is the essence of the difference between humans and animals, the essence of humanity as such.
And Ryan, Ryan! He provoked so many feelings, so many thoughts! He was just the opposite of a void, how to word it? Endless, absolute, all-encompassing, undivided, and total. And even so, he didn't seem to grasp it at all. Of course, he probably doesn't ponder such abstruse thoughts, but simply looking at him and seeing more than could conceivably be perceived was just physically painful.
And a completely absurd conclusion arises, remembering which, it becomes difficult to even think about events of several years ago, even before the Train. Isn't Ryan then what makes Min a Human? Or does he have such an effect on every person around him? And is he the only one who does? In Min's life, or perhaps even in the whole world? This thought always led him to terrible hypotheses and assumptions.
From the right, quiet snoring could already be heard over the noise of the engine. And he said he didn't want to sleep. And again, Ryan makes him feel. With the understanding of the absurdity of the man's words, Min could feel a dull ache beneath his ribs. A dull, lingering pain that was actually sometimes even pleasant.
And what if he crashed the car? Would that really, really change anything? So many possible outcomes, and no way to know. Would neither of them die? Ryan would probably never let him drive again. Only Min? Nothing would change at all. He had mixed feelings about Ryan breaking down in tears over him, but time would pass and everything would return to the beginning, because every finish is, in essence, a start.
Only Ryan? The thought of it started to hurt somewhere between his collarbones, but the only consequence of that could be the acquisition of death's meaning. Indeed, how does a person without their Human Factor differ from a corpse? Only in that they can perform physical labour. And everything would return to the time before the Train, although if it did reappear, there would be nothing it could possibly do.
Both of them? This option was the most pleasant and straightforward — what the hell's the big deal? Yes, some people will have to change up their schedules a little, and others, in the middle of a pleasant spring day, when someone finally drives down this ill-fated road and calls the police, will have to scrape up the dried blood from the asphalt, but will any of them really care anymore?
But right now, he didn't have the desire that would outweigh common sense and understanding of the chances and risks involved. What if they did care? It was difficult to know. Moreover, such thoughts were exhausting not only cognitively and emotionally, but also physically, as the dull pain in his chest did not subside. He wanted to think about something pleasant or not think at all, although the latter was impossible, particularly because of the person on his right. It was also difficult to distract himself. The road was empty, with only the occasional power line poles and low trees speeding by on either side. Inside the car, everything was as usual, only the air seemed denser.
All that remained was to continue driving straight ahead, periodically glancing in the rear-view mirror. Why? He didn't know himself. He didn't expect to see any cars there, and Ryan wasn't going to disappear anywhere, or even change, as usual. Time passed and passed, and everything remained as it always had. “Min, Min, time passes, but you don’t change at all!” The words were spoken as if anything ever actually changed. Or maybe it's perception? An observer always destroys. An observer always changes. Influences with their presence. And again, something weighs on the chest. And again, time passes.
Above his head, the almost orange street lights began to flicker more and more frequently. Most likely, a town was soon to appear. Indeed, soon a standard sign with the name of the town flashed by on the right. This distracted him a little from his nagging worries. All that remained was to hope that there was a motel or something similar there. He didn't have to speculate for long — a few hundred metres down the road, a dull sign appeared.
Had it been like that from the beginning, or had it simply faded? It was hard to say. Without thinking too long about the answer to this uniquely pointless question, Min turned into the car park. There was just one pitiful little truck there. Someone had written “We loved each other here” in the dust on its rear door.
He parked the car next to it and, glancing once more at his sleeping companion, took the keys out of the ignition. He sighed nervously, checked his wallet, and got out of the car, slamming the door behind him. It was different out here. Walking a little distance away from Ryan, he felt a mixture of relief and a certain regret. Be that as it may, he had to go to the reception desk. Min slowed down a little as he passed the truck to read the inscription again. Loved each other. Lost in thought, he walked around the building and headed to the main entrance.
The interior was not particularly impressive, except for a saxophone figurine on the reception desk. Curious. He was greeted by a surprisingly pleasant lady at the aforementioned desk. The night shift was usually unpleasant, especially for employees, but she did not seem to share these sentiments.
— Evening, sir! How could I assist you? — The woman casually tucked her short hair behind her ear and looked up at Min.
— Good evening, I need a room for two... No longer than two days. — That's tautology. What a pity!
— If you don't know exactly how long you'll be staying, you can pay the bill when you check out. You may have already seen it, but just in case, the prices are over there on the poster, — she pointed towards the entrance door. There was indeed a sign with prices, which was worth taking a look at. — Do you need a bed for two or two separate ones?
— Yes, separates, please. — Noticing that the lady was holding a pen, he slowly gave his surname and first name and presented his passport. Receiving the key and a friendly smile from her, he smiled back and, wishing her a good night, left the building, first glancing without much attention at the price list on the wall.
He walked around the building again and stopped behind the truck. Loved each other. And we didn't. That's exactly what he wrote. What for? Another uniquely pointless question with no answer.
Glancing at the keys in his hands, he concluded that he had parked not far from the desired room. He got back behind the wheel and shuddered slightly. Ryan. And what did he expect? He quickly pulled the car into the right spot and took the key out of the ignition again. Now all that was left was to wake him up. In fact, they still had to move some of their things or at least get to the room themselves, but that was all trivial.
For a few minutes, Min watched his relaxed face, but he himself was already starting to feel drowsy, so there was nothing left to do but shake the sleeping man awake.
Inattentively pushing him in the forearm with his right hand, he glanced at the watch on his wrist. It was a quarter to three. “My eyes have not closed yet, oh, and here the sun is rising…” Although not all was lost. He could still sleep for an hour or two. Ryan did not particularly respond to his half-hearted attempts to wake him up.
The lad finally looked away from the dial and glanced at him with some concern. He looked and felt quite alive, just firmly asleep. Consistent with his tactics in this case, he chose to simply continue shaking his, in a way, colleague until sleep released him from its grip.
In particular, this led to semi-coherent muttering and affirmative nodding.
— Ryan, good morning, we're here, get up, wake up, — Min spoke to him as if he understood something or could even hear him. Deciding to change his approach slightly, he leaned back in his seat and began to push his companion in the face. The man frowned and, still half asleep, waved his hand in his general direction. — And what am I supposed to do with you?
— Nothing... Just go to bed, — he mumbled, without even opening his eyes, turning his face toward him with a hint of a smile on his lips.
— That's exactly what I want, — said the other, shoving Ryan in the shoulder again, — but why the hell did we even drive here if we're just going to sleep in the car?
— What, are we there already? — he suddenly sat up abruptly. So abruptly that one could reasonably worry that he might lose consciousness on the spot. While he rubbed his eyes and put on his glasses, which he had previously dug out of one of the cup holders, Min straightened up next to him, thinking with a certain reproach that Ryan should sometimes listen more carefully to what he told him.
— My eyes, my eyes, my sweet brown eyes! Get used to being all alone, my eyes, — he recited, without any particular reason, either a line from a song unknown to Min or something from his own poetry. In reality, there is no inherent need for such things, and it probably does not exist in nature. People invent most of their needs themselves. The average person does not need poetry, except perhaps for shallow attempts at high morality, and can easily live their life without artistic language, metaphors and rhymes. You feel like it, something pops into your head, and there you go... Something closer to the last resort, perhaps. A refuge from the pain and nausea of identical days and, what's worse, identical thoughts.
He was distracted from further musings on yet another undoubtedly trivial topic by the click of the door and the cool air coming from the direction of the sound. Ryan got out of the car to retrieve stuff from the trunk, most of which was actually taken up by a mattress covered with a harsh blanket that was almost never used. Not wanting to fall too far behind his friend, the man also got out and closed the doors. He took only a bag with clothes and personal items; the synthesiser was likely to be of little use. Ryan's guitar case contained much more than just the instrument, including several notebooks with lyrics, sheet music, practically empty and reserved for notes, as well as unexpected and surprisingly diverse trinkets.
The pleasantly green door with the number “3” swung open after a brief fumble with the key. They found themselves in the far corner of the room. Immediately to the right was a light switch and two wooden chairs. The room was filled with yellow light from three lamps on the chandelier. The lampshades were shaped like lilies. The opposite wall was almost entirely taken up by a window, under which stood a small table. There was a closet along the right wall, and perpendicular to it, opposite, were two beds.
As is tradition, even without words, the spot by the window went to Min, and the other, more central one, to Ryan. The latter dumped his things next to the bed and settled down on it himself. While Min was locking the door again, he glanced around the interior once more. The curtains were a distinct pink colour, which would certainly make itself known as soon as the sun rose. The bathroom door, which he had not noticed before, was practically adjacent to the entrance door and certainly could not be opened at the same time. There were two wooden icons on the wardrobe. If his limited knowledge of religion did not fail him, they depicted Jesus and the Virgin Mary. Overall, the room was quite neat, considering the prevailing contingent of such places.
— Mi-i-i-n, — he dragged out, leaning towards the man who was now unpacking things on the table, which, as it turned out, was almost up against his bed. The man started, but hummed expectantly, waiting for him to continue. — Do you know what we need?
Min paused for a few seconds, thinking about what they might need and what they didn't have. Coming to no conclusion, he shrugged and continued unpacking.
— You wanted to go out into nature, didn't you? We need to watch the sunrise and have a couple of drinks while we can avoid getting behind the wheel, — Ryan said, lying down on the bed with his arms behind his head. His gaze met that of an icon of Jesus Christ. It seemed to condemn him, but the guy didn’t really care. — We should still have a bottle of brandy from that concert in Wyoming somewhere.
— If you let me sleep for at least another hour… — he said hesitantly, sighing defeatedly. — What time does the sun rise here?
Sometime after five — you still have nearly two hours... My God, Min, you have no idea how much I love you! — The man shuddered at such words. In the end, “I love you" from Ryan usually meant something close to “thank you for putting up with my crazy escapades”. He didn’t answer, something ached again below his ribs, almost making him nauseous. Probably a premonition of how miserable he would feel in the morning after an almost-sleepless night. But what wouldn't a person do for their only friend?
— I'm just going to take a shower and go to sleep. Wake me up when you need me, — he said, grabbing some clean clothes and a towel, before closing the door behind him.
Once alone, Min felt a chill run down his spine again. The prospect of getting drunk was very ambiguous, causing both elation and dejection, which seemed to squeeze him between each other. Such mental dilemmas arose quite often, in particular due to the constant presence of a contradictory factor, Ryan, nearby. In fact, any of his suggestions that deviated from the routine inevitably led to a mild existential crisis, and considering that there was no routine as such in their lives at the moment, his whole life resembled a philosophical novel written by an absurdist with chronic depression and a thirst to feel anything at all.
Having come to something of a conclusion about his current position, he decided that a shower would have a certain therapeutic effect on him. It didn't take him long, partly because of the questionable appearance of the shower room and his persistent drowsiness. After that, he really did feel better. Whatever the case, nothing objectively terrible had happened yet, so why should he worry right now? Of course, knowing what was going on in Ryan's head would make the whole situation much easier, but in the end, it was just Ryan. If something went wrong, they would fix it one way or another.
Everything in the room remained static, with the exception of, you'll never guess, Ryan. Now he was sitting and scribbling something with a pen, voluntarily-compulsorily borrowed some time ago from backstage. To his right, as usual, lay a guitar case with an unzipped front pocket. In addition to the covers of several other notebooks and, for some unfathomable reason, a dry red rose wrapped in cling film, a strange, dull, reddish-pink knife fell out from inside, which was frankly uncomfortable to look at. Fortunately, it was not the centre of attention at the moment, so it was more than possible to avoid staring at it.
Min eventually lay down on the bed, feeling dizzy from the sudden change in position, but it didn't really make much difference anyway. He turned his head towards Ryan again. He was partially obscured by the bedside table between the beds, but he could still make out his focused yet somewhat amused expression.
Trying not to think about anything, especially the pain near his xiphoid process, which he probably should have consulted a doctor about, he finally drifted off to sleep.