#nctfics

So here, I am ridin’ in my van to meet you at our favorite spot next to the City 127 café. I spot you and my heart rate no longer has a regular pace. As I step forward, I see her with you on the swings as she says loudly “baby don’t stop,” while you push her forward. I know your baby don’t like it when I come around, but you are my only best friend in the world. As if the universe was telling me something, I take one last look at you and don’t say goodbye.

I want you to stay in my life, but I also know I need to let you go. Goodbyes are not always easy, but I know in due time I don’t need your love to feel like a misfit in a mad city. I am only human after all. I guess this is how it feels like to be your own heartbreaker.

In another world, you would have been mine. If I could turn back time to that moment we played, Simon says at the Welcome to My Playground Arcade, I would have told you I la la love you. I used to be the one who would make your day as we sit down and drink a juice from the Nectar Jungle, while playing paper plane.

I know if you asked me, I would still come back running 2 u. I also know I would look like a fool, while you knock on some random strangers’ house after midnight looking for a one-night fun. I keep telling myself we young and you will realize I am all you need, but I can no longer let this dream run longer than it intended to be.

You will always be my first and last love. So as I close my eyes and count 1, 2, 3, you will be faded in my last song.

Until we meet again ...

You could barely blink. You froze in place, your hands shaking at an uncontrollable rate. You eyed him incredulously, “What are you talking about?”

That night, you came home alone. You knew that the disease made adults more vulnerable yet you couldn’t believe that you had lost both of your parents in one day. All you could do was sit in your living room and cry until you couldn’t breathe. You screamed until your lungs heart, the weight of grief crushing your chest- it suffocated you. All that swirled in your head was memories of your mother cooking dinner while your father chased you around the dining table or the way you’d go to the city to explore, laughing in your family’s van as you drove. It was all too much. What were you going to do? Who would you call for help? Your family didn’t have many relatives in the area after your father decided to take a PR job in New York City. You felt all alone, the gloomy, steely skies looked especially lonely outside of your window. You couldn’t even see the sun. 

You fell asleep on your living room couch, your muscles sore from the unmoving position of your legs and arms. Deciding to switch on the TV, you were sure that the government would send a social worker to come fetch you- that’s what they always said on the news. Surprisingly, headlines read, “New vaccine formulated by pharmaceutical team at New York Institute of Medicine.” Despite the fact being good news, you felt numb. It didn’t matter because you had lost your family. It was too late. Over the next two years, the government issued a world-wide administration of the vaccine, the diseases had almost disappeared entirely. People were able to go back to work, walk their dogs, and dine out with their friends. The UN had stated each nation would work together to rebuild the damage of what was lost, whole cities were torn down to restart again. Technology advanced just as quickly: the old, ruined world becoming a man-made virtual paradise. Engineers and infrastructure developers reached new heights by building jets that flew at 1,840 miles per hour to skyscrapers that seemed to pierce through heaven. Somehow, by mercy, you managed to see the world change. You survived.

Current time

Of course, there wasn’t a real opportunity to go back to school after the plague, it led you to look for other ways to contribute to the work force instead. In the old world, work consisted of becoming a doctor, a lawyer, even a neighborhood bee-keeper ; as a young kid, you never had a clear idea of who or what you wanted to be. When you started to stabilize yourself by taking small part-time jobs that didn’t require a degree or some form of formal education, you slowly started to accumulate savings. After a while, you had been eyeing a virtual game constructed by the Kynigos company that swept the world by storm. It was everywhere on social media, all of the sign boards that lined 2nd avenue to 7th. Almost every family on your block purchased these visionary headsets that allowed you to see life in a kaleidoscopic lense. When you tried yours on for the first time, it was utterly breathtaking. New York city mimicked that of rainbow road in your old mario kart game, the streets glowed hues of bubblegum pinks and electric blues. The skyscrapers were dripping with panels of evergreens and xanthous yellows as the sky sparkled as a net covered it, the tiny strands glittering with violet crystals. You continued to walk down the block, circles glowing over your eyes and floating signboards that advertised expensive desserts bobbed up and down. As you scanned your surroundings, every person on the street or drivers cruising down the road had their headset on. Cars projected virtual screens that were lined with data codes and numbers. Even the foliage on the trees changed a new color every morning and night, the clouds moved by glitching slightly. It was like you could sweep your fingertips across every color you could think of, the streetlamps dripping gold above your head. 

Each time Kynigos uploaded a new software update, people would go ballistic over the installation of game mode. In place of a regular day job, you’d be able to make money by taking investors’ requests and errands. It ran on in-game currency that could be exchanged for real money in which you desperately needed to eat, to live. That’s where you were: you took requests for the smaller investors like fetching their meals or buying their groceries. Moving up, you honed your skills on clearing the game levels, earning access to a database of more promising, richer moguls. They were getting hungry, some of them crossing the law to conduct illegal activities in-game: Kynigos never really enforced the restrictions. No matter how much the government tried to take over the game, it would only gain more and more powerful. They always found their way around it. You had just cleared level 50, your reward was to establish a link with an anonymous client who offered 5 grand in exchange for a person’s identity. Not that you knew who the client or request was, you had become a bounty-hunter chasing for your next bankroll. You didn’t have time to pick and choose. At the corner of your headset screen, a pop-chat window appeared: “Hello. Please refer to me as Mr. C.”

You replied, “Hi. How may I help you?”

“I’m looking for someone who can track down a person that I’ve been trying to find. The request is to confirm their identity and bring them to me. I will raise the reward if need be.”

You continue, “I need that in writing. May I have this person’s file?”

“I will send it over shortly.”

The chat window expands into a link, a typed document of the request along with a signature. You had been cheated out once, you were sure to not let it happen again. When you enlarge the file, it’s a picture of a boy who was much younger than you. He wore a navy blue sweatshirt, his black hair curled on one side of his forehead. His eyes seemed incredibly innocent, his doe irises complimenting the smile that graced his lips ; the sharpness of his cheekbones accentuating his prepubescent face. His name read, “Mark/ Minhyung Lee.” and was last spotted not far from where you lived. You asked, “Mr. C, why are you looking for a kid?”

“I have no obligation to answer that question. Regardless, are you able to do it? If you can’t succeed, I will have to take measures into my own hands.”

With the amount of money that was being offered, you would be set for a while. Taking the request seemed extremely worth it. 

“It’s a deal, Mr. C.”

You pulled up your virtual map with a click of a button, the map expanding into the space of your living room. It showed every alleyway, every nook and cranny in the city. You enlarged the floating map with your fingers, zooming in on a couple blocks away from your apartment. From your room, you grabbed your back-pack and changed into a black body-tight outfit (a skin you won as a reward on level 15), and your hair tied in a loose knot. Dashing out the door, you headed for where this Mark was last seen. You walked around the city, scanning the crowds of people as you walked. The street lamps illuminated the moving sidewalk as people talked into their headset by the cafe windows. Colorful lights blossomed on the tiny windows of the tall buildings. How were you supposed to find such a young kid wandering around by himself? Was Mr. C. his father? Maybe a disgruntled relative? You were unsure. You stopped inside a convenience store, the view of a black-haired boy turned around in one of the aisles. You couldn’t see his face, could that be Mark? The cashier sleepily greeted you, his headset sat crookedly on the rim of his forehead. Making your way to the small boy, you walked in front of him to get a better look- it was not him. He looked up at you confusedly, “hey lady, should I get a chocolate bar or a lollipop?”

Pointing at the chocolate bar you winked, “Chocolate for sure.”

The child walked away from you as he perused through the candy aisle more. You felt a hand grab your wrist from behind to be met with a scruffy man who wore tattered clothes and scratched at his dirtied beard. His eyes bulged with hysteria, “Pretty girl, give me that!”

He pointed at your polished headset, his grimy fingers reaching for it. You stumbled back as your heart beat furiously in your chest, “Sir, I don’t want trouble. Please step back from me.”

The man takes another step towards you instead, his rough hands flying to grip your waist, “Say, what’s your name? Want to come with me?”

You try wrenching out of his grip, you shouted for the cashier’s attention- he’s too busy paying attention to the game to even hear you. The man’s fingers make contact with the skin on your hip which causes you to jolt, you struggle to reach for the knife at the bottom of your backpack.

“Sir, kindly back off!”

The homeless man swivels around, facing a boy about the same age as you. Looking at him, you had not ever witnessed a more attractive boy in a while. His hair was a chestnut color, the crest of it gelled over, his face was slim and defined. Even his lips were the prettiest shade of sakura blossoms, his obsidian eyes stern with fury. He pushed up a pair of version 3 cyber-glasses on the bridge of his nose, “Sir, I said to back off!”

Just like that, the homeless man raised his hands in mock surrender as he scampered out of the convenience store- leaving you staring at the handsome boy in front of you.

You nervously adjust yourself, “Um-I- thank you for that.”

The boy gives you a warm smile, one of his hairs falling onto his forehead, “No need to thank me. That guy was being a total creep. Plus, that cashier should be fired for being distracted.”

You laugh, you catch yourself staring at the abundance of watermelon pops in the boy’s hands. He eyes you and then back to his pops, “Oh, would you like one?”

Stammering over your words you shake your head a bit too wildly, “N-no t-thanks! I-I prefer mango?”

Why did you say mango? You hate mango-flavored things. He gives you a hearty chuckle, “Fair enough, mango’s good too.”

It goes without saying anything, you both pay for the treats as you walk on to the sidewalk, a cold breeze making you shiver. The boy cards his fingers through his hair, the streetlamps casting a golden flow on his highlights, “I guess this is where we part. I hope you don’t run into any more creeps.”

You nod at him, “I sure hope not. By the way, what’s your name?”

There, you feel like you’ve messed up. This stranger saves you from some homeless guy and you ask him for his name, his eyes are widened with surprise. You silently sigh in relief when he breaks into a toothy smile, “Yeah, um, My name’s Jonathan.”

His voice comes out a little hesitant, as if he’s not sure. You eye him, “You sure about that, bud?”

“Of course. I was just deciding whether or not to tell you Jon or Jonathan is all.”

You say, “Well, goodbye Jonathan. Thank you for helping me out today.”

You swerve to walk back down the street in which you came, your headset blinking with the weather forecast in the corner of it. You feel a hand catch your shoulder gently, “Wait-t, d-do y-you think we can exchange handles?”

Turning back to the boy, you certainly weren’t expecting him to say that, “Yeah, sure!”

Together, you calibrate your headsets as a glowing icon appears above his head, “Accept Jonathan as a friend?”

You say, “Accept!”

Jonathan’s name adds to your friends list, not that you had any previous names added anyway. He finishes adding to you as well, your name hot on his tongue as he repeats it daintily. Giving you a final wave, you both go your separate ways. You decide to look for Mark in the morning.

Later that night, you find yourself staring at a message notification from Jonathan. Tapping in the air, you press on it- you bite your lip in anticipation. A bubble appears over his message, “You still up?”

You type on your virtual floating keyboard, “I am, wanna chat?”

Another bubble appears: “proceed with projection communication?”

You look yourself up and down, your outfit only consists of a pair of striped pajamas unlike your black suit earlier. You can’t imagine that Jonathan’s dressed up at this hour. Accepting the bubble, a scan of Jonathan’s virtual body appears in front of you as if he’s sitting in your desk chair. He looks different from earlier, he wears a thin t-shirt that reads ‘Vancouver’, his hair glimmers with wet drops from his shower and he holds an acoustic guitar in his hands. At first he doesn’t realize that you’ve accepted the projection call until he drops his guitar to the ground, fumbling in his chair, “Oh! hi-i, I didn’t see you there for a second..”

You laugh at his silliness, “you were the one who initiated the call in the first place!”

“Still! One second, I need to get something.”

When he finally returns, he holds a bowl of cereal in his hands, spooning sugary flakes into his mouth before toasting the bowl, “Cereal baby!”

“Who eats cereal at this hour?”

“Me- I do!”

You smile at him, leaning back into your pillows, it’s almost too surreal that it feels like Jonathan is staring right back at you from your room. It’s like he’s right there with you. 

You continue, “So, what do you like to do in your free-time?”

He looks up from his bowl, “Hm, I uh- I guess I just listen to music or watching Netflix? Something like that?”

“I see you have a guitar by you, do you play well?”

He rubs the back of his neck nervously, “I wouldn’t say too good but I do enjoy playing? I write a bit too.”

“Can you play something for me?”

He gives you a playful smirk before breaking into a high-pitched laugh, “Put me on the spot now aren’t we?”

You reply, “You kind of set yourself up by bringing out a guitar. Of course I was going to ask.”

With a heavy sigh, he mumbles, “This is a song that I wrote when I started living on my own.”

You feel your heart swell at the sight of this stranger whispering soft words of song, the strums of his guitar filling the emptiness of your room. When he’s finished, you give him a standing ovation, “What do you mean not too good? You’ve got talent.”

He rubs his eyes tiredly, “Gotta stay humble, you know?”

Your memory plays back to Jonathan’s words: “I started living on my own.”

You tread into unknown waters, “Listen, let me know if this is too personal but when did you start living alone?”

Visibly, his frame becomes stiffened, his lips press into a thin line, “About three years ago? I think?”

He’s the same as you. You continue, “Do you still keep in touch with your parents?”

A flash of pain coats Jonathan’s face, his teeth sink into his lower lip anxiously, “You know-w, I-I think we should call it a night-t?”

You’ve pushed too far. “Oh, yes- sure. Right, good night.”

Like that, Jonathan’s projection disappears from your desk chair, the call ending with a beep. You throw your headset to your nightstand with a clang, throwing your head into your pillow. You doubt that Jonathan wants to talk to you after pressing into his private matters.

When morning comes, your heart jumps at the notification at the top of your messages bar. You click on it, Jonathan’s audio file plays, “Hey-y, I-I’m reallly sorry for uh- I-I kind of left you hanging last night? Can we meet up and talk? Possibly? Let me know when you get this.”

You respond back to him, “Hey, don’t apologize. It was my fault for pushing you where you weren’t comfortable. I’ll forward my address.”

Within the next hour or so, you find Jonathan standing in your doorway as he raises a bag of mango and watermelon pops from the convenience store in his hand. You usher him in, “You got here quite fast..”

He smiles at you, setting the bag on your table, “I’m pretty speedy. Also, you’ve got a nice pad.”

“Oh- yeah, technically it used to be my parents but they well- they passed away.”

His face turns somber, his features darkening with hurt, “I’m sorry for your loss y/n.”

Trying your best, you muster a small smile at him, “It’s okay. Can I get you anything? Water?”

“I-uh- no, I’m good.”

With a heavy sigh, Jonathan plops himself on your couch, his eyes shifting to the vibrant city view outside, “Anyway, I-I just wanted to apologize for leaving so abruptly last night.”

Shaking your head, you answer regretfully, “No, it was completely my fault, I should be sorry.” The features on his face turn sharper. He stiffens again, his fists curl beside him on the couch, “I also haven’t been too honest about myself.”

“What do you mean?”

“My name isn’t Jonathan. That’s just an alias- my real name is Mark. Mark Lee.”

You feel your breath hitch in your throat. The boy that your client is after is sitting on your living room couch. How could you not recognize him? Your headset tab has his file bookmarked- he was a child then. Of course, he’s matured. 

“Why would you lie about your name?”

Jonathan- now, Mark sighs, “Because, I have to. You asked me about my parents? They were murdered by some gang leaders because they owed them money so we could survive the plague. They did what they had to so we could live. They’re still after me.”

You hand flies to your mouth in shock, “Mark, I- I’m so sorry. I didn’t know. I-”

Mark places a warm hand on yours, “It’s okay- don’t be sorry y/n. Just don’t tell anyone.”

“Not a word, I swear on it.”

Mark picks himself up to move closer to you, your knees almost touching, “When did you start living alone?”

The memories of you watching the doctors send your parents’ bodies to the morgue surface in your mind. You can’t stop the flood that breaks the dam. Digging your nails into your palm, you sniffle, “My parents passed away from the plague on the same day. Like yours, they had to work and go outside for us to survive. I was on the streets a bit before I could make money myself.”

It’s impossible. You can’t stop the tears that stream on your cheeks. You squeeze your eyes shut, “I miss them so much.”You feel a thumb swipe your tears away. You open your eyes to see a blurry vision of Mark’s concerned face, his fringe swept on one side of his forehead, “I’m here, it’s okay. I miss mine too.”

In a split second, you fall into the crook of Mark’s chest, snuggling into his arms. You hear the slow thrum of his heartbeat, the music that beats with his soul. It’s beautiful, the way his doe eyes gaze down at you and the way it feels when you reach up to sweep the hair out of his eyes, “Thank you, Mark.”

He doesn’t say anything, he continues to rub circles on your back comfortingly as he thumbs your hand in his lap. Afterwards, you and Mark decide to eat dinner with Mark in the city. With Mark beside you, everything seems ten times more vibrant. Musicians play on the streets, their instruments laced with colorful threads (bonus items that tune your instrument automatically). Robotic helpers roll around in the restaurants as they pick up tabs, refill waters, and do little things that could be cumbersome for humans. You and Mark sit on the second floor of your favorite ramen restaurant, one that your parents frequented often. Laughing at the way Mark slurped his noodles made you happier. For some odd reason, Mark reminded you of the comfort that your parents had- a warm glow that always brightened the room. He placed his chicken into your bowl, forcing you to eat his no matter how much you protested. When you were done, Mark led you to the third story of the restaurant, a rooftop garden that overlooked the city. The view was breathtaking: the skyline reflected an ocean of colors onto the water as the Brooklyn bridge allowed flying vehicles to soar across the sky. You both sat on the edge of the building, Mark pulling your body closer to his. He rested his head on your shoulder as he hummed some unrecognizable song, the honking of cars is the only thing that disrupts him. Steadily, you brought a hand to the scar on his cheekbone- causing him to raise his head at you. Mark leaned further into your touch, his hair fluttering in the wind slightly, “Can I um, kiss you?”

Smiling, you crash your lips onto yours, his lips feeling plush and soft at first. You move one hand to entwine Mark’s hairs in between your fingers, causing him to let out a moan. Your kiss grows more passionate as you part your mouth for him to move his tongue, your body temperatures rise- an alert pops on to your headsets. Ignoring it, Mark leans further into your lips while you arch your back on the roof. He pushes you flat against the concrete, his lips detach from yours with a sound. When you look at him, Mark’s half lidded eyes and swollen lips pop from the colorful netted sky that hangs above him, you say, “Wow, you’re good Mark Lee.”

He laughs into your shoulder, his giggle full of mirth. You don’t resist when he presses a kiss to your lips for the second time, you take harder control than he does. You roll onto your side so you can climb on top of him instead. Mark reaches up to place a hair behind your ear before you lean in to press a kiss to his nose. His eyes glimmer with adoration, “y/n, the things you’re doing to me right now-”

Mark starts to press a burning kiss to the hollow of your neck, you pause when a notification flashes on your messages bar. You open it, it’s from Mr. C. It reads, “Y/n. I’m afraid you’re out of time.” You scramble off of Mark, causing him to yelp, “Oh god, y/n, I-I’m so sorry, I- did- I go too far? I shouldn’t have done that- oh my-”

You press your hand to Mark’s lips, “It’s not you. I have to tell you something, it’s-”

“What? What’s wrong?”

You both sit up, “I’m sorry. I should’ve told you earlier I just forgot about it because we were talking and I-I just don’t-”

Mark’s expression turns firm, “What is it?”

“I just passed level 50 in-game. I got a request from a client and he told me he was after you and I took it because I thought I needed the money and now that I know you’re the person he wants, I don’t know what to do-he says we’re out of time!”

Mark looks down, his face morphing into slow pain, “Did you have that request since we met?”

You shout at him, “Yes! But, I was never going to sell you out, I swear! I started to like you and I wouldn’t have done that!”

Marks still casts his eyes down, “Y/n, I have to go right now- I can’t be outside-”

“You’re too late!”

You and Mark swivel your heads to see a skinny man dressed in a plaid suit hop off his emerald hoverboard, a pistol sits in the grip of his hand, “I’ve got you now Mark Lee! And y/n has led me straight to you!”

Mark practically leaps across you, forcing you to move behind him, “Just stay behind me.”

You place your hands on Mark’s shoulders, gripping him tightly. The man- Mr. C. looks hysterical when he flashes Mark a sinister grin, “Your parents still haven’t paid their debt. You’ll serve as compensation.” 

He aims his gold-lined pistol at Mark, cackling before he sends a smoking bullet flying to Mark’s chest without a warning. You scream, Mark falling on his side as he clutches his wound. Mr. C. spits in your direction before zipping off on his hoverboard, leaving you to press your hands to Mark’s body. Already, your hands are covered in crimson blood, you smell the iron scent of it and it makes you sick. You don’t even realize that you’re screaming now, “Hold on! I’m going to get you to a hospital okay? Hold on!”

Mark lets out a weak cough, his eyes failing to stay open. You cradle his head, “Mark? Mark, stay awake! Stay with me, please!”

Once more, he reaches up a bloodied palm to your cheek, your tears falling onto his shirt, “Hey, it’s okay. It’s okay.”

You whimper, “It’s not okay! Don’t leave me! I’ll be alone again!”

The hot tears blur your vision, it’s getting harder to not collapse. You see Mark smile at you, “you know, you’re the only person that’s made me feel less lonely since my parents died.”

Clutching his hand, you feel the calloused skin along his palm, wanting to savor every bit of him, “Mark, I’ve fallen for you.”

Nodding, “And I, you.”