The Advent of Christmas

As Arshen took a step out of his car, the biting winter wind welcomed him harshly. A sharp contrast to the warmth he had felt in his car. The cold breeze seemed to give him a message of what he could meet here.

The old warehouse loomed ahead. Abandoned and uninhabitable. Long forgotten by time. Not even electricity was running here.

Yet, here he was. He had came. Driven by a mere letter from an unknown hand, received a week ago. Yet, deep in his mind, he insisted he knew those handwritings. The words lingered in his mind: "Let only the two of us meet for the last."

The letter specified to him for the day and the location. Those were the very time and place he now was.

As he approached the building, he could feel the anticipation. The anxiety. His heart raced hard. The possibilities flashed in his mind.

Before Arshen came, he had consulted to trusted friends, leaving out details he considered they didn't need to know. Everyone told him not to. It could be a trap, a robbery, or even if it was the person Arshen thought it would be, nothing good would come from the person who called him to an abandoned place in the dead of night. He thought, everyone was right. He should not.

But he had came.

When he pushed the rusted-steel door, it shrieked loudly. Arshen was almost frightened by the sound. However, he had came too far to return without finding any truth about the letter.

He peeked inside, and he could see the room was dim, yet not as dark as the outside. Few kerosene lamps were lit, as if someone had waited for his arrival. Each lamp sputtered as the wind from outside tried to reach in, along with Arshen's steps. The smell of the room was also not moldy, or abandoned. Instead, of the mix of kerosene and wild flowers. Really, Arshen was now anticipating of who he would meet. Because for sure, someone was here.

"Hello," he called out. His voice echoed, filled the empty space, bouncing around like his wayward thought. "Is anyone there?"

Just as he wished to leave, a door creaked open at the far end of the room. The familiar blonde hair was revealed, a figure stepped into the scene.

"Arshen," the voice replied. Arshen shivered at that voice. He recognized that sound. William. That voice was tender, yet wasn't what William truly was. "I am glad you could make it."

Arshen stood frozen in the moment. The shock was undeniable. Once, twice, he blinked several times, tried to distinguish between reality and dream. William couldn't be here.

"William?"

The name escaped his lips in white whisper, disbelief coloured his tone. He had believed William had gone long ago. But here William was, standing in front of him as no time had passed. Arshen trembled as he remembered the torturous time they had spent together. He fought to maintain his composure, not to lose his calm in front of this prick, this devil incarnate of a human.

Why did William find him now?

"What do you want?" Arshen's voice cracked. Spontaneously, his leg took a step back, creating a space between them, his heart was pounding loudly.

While William, he had been the person he was. Calm, cold, collected. His gaze was steady, his voice soothing.

"Take a seat, Arshen." Yet commanding. His gesture gestured to a couple of wooden chairs, which also eaten by time.

The tone. In the past, William had used the similar tone to command him. Failing in submitting would cause him pain. Yet he tried to be brave now. Now was not the past, "No, I don't think I will be here for so long. I will stand."

But William stepped forward. A glint of metal in his hand - a gun. Dark and menacing. Yes, this man hadn't yet to change. He would force his way, Arshen knew it.

"I am afraid I wasn't talking of an offer," William replied softly. The contrast of his tender tone and the threat was threatening.

Arshen swallowed his own pride, fear, and discomfort as he stepped forward. Reluctantly, he moved toward the rickety corner. Each step felt like a surrender. As he lowered himself on the seat, he couldn't stop cursing himself. He had a hunch and it was William, and he should've heard every warning. He shouldn't come here.

Nevertheless, his heart couldn't deny it. He had longed for this man. At the same time, Arshen refused to acknowledge it. As he collected his courage, he sounded his hurry: "What do you want, William? Please make this quick. I don't have all the time in the world."

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William also joined him on the seat, placed himself in front of Arshen. Hearing those words made his lips curled into slight smile. A pure smile in eyes of others, but Arshen wouldn't be deceived - it was terrifying.

"Please? That's been awhile. How cute. Say it again."

Arshen could feel his blood boiled. Fear was what he felt for William, but he couldn't stand put when William was ready to step on his pride. Just like the past.

"You think this is fucking funny?" he shot back. Yet, he actually made himself sounding braver than he felt.

"It's nostalgic."

"If you want to make me sitting here forever, you might as well put the gun here, and pull the trigger," Arshen replied. He couldn't stand William longer. No, currently he just tried to protect himself.

Yet, those words seemed to shoot William deeply. His expression changed. His smile faded, he seemed to be serious.

"Do you think I am here to kill you? No, I am here to finish our unfinished business."

"Business?" Arshen scoffed, rolled his eyes sarcastically. He might be surprised by the change of expression William had, yet he wasn't going to buy it. "What kind of business could we possibly have?"

Yet, William's expression didn't waver. He seemed to be determine to finish the incomplete matter, "An apology. I owe you that much."

"Apologize?" Arshen chuckled a bitter laugh. "What kind of a business required an apology?"

Arshen let himself to lean back on the chair, staring bitterly into William's blue eyes, "Oh let me guess: 'I am sorry for all the times I nearly end your life'?" he folded his arms, sarcastic smile displayed on his face, "or 'I am sorry for the living hell I am transforming your life into'?"

"Both," William replied. His gaze was surely of a guilty person. "I am here to apologize. Just hear me out, please."

"What is going on here, William? Are you playing another game?" Arshen leaned forward now, putting a contrast to the static pose of William. Yet, he leaned forward to inspect William's face in this limited light. To search for a hint, a trace of a smirk. Anything. But he found none. However, in Arshen's mind, he convinced himself that he simply couldn't read this man. He denied every possibility of what William said might be genuine.

"I wish I could simply say there are two sides of me, Arshen..." William began. His gaze was lowered, as his voice was low, resigned. He no longer met Arshen's eyes, "like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, I wish I could tell you that the man who hurt you wasn't me, but someone else. Entirely. Just, it wouldn't be the truth."

Arshen constantly denied the possibility of sincerity. He kept searched William’s face for any sign of deceit but only found a complexity he had never fully understood. "You expect me to believe that you’re here to make amends?"

"It’s far too late for an amend, I understand," William answered, "there’s only one me, after all. No one else. I am the one who hurt you. The one who took pleasure in your pain, who watched you suffered and didn’t stop."

Arshen's heart raced as he heard word by word. Could he believe it was genuine? For a moment, Arshen saw the man he once knew—a flicker of vulnerability masked by the hardened shell he had become.

"Why?" Arshen's voice trembled. Deep in his heart, he tried to lock his feeling, his longing. "Why now, Will?"

"Because, it’s just now that I hate myself for it. Every day, very moment, I loathe what I have became…"

"You? Loathing what you have became?" Arshen scoffed. "Do you think I will say okay, we can fix-"

Yet, the sound of the safety clicking off cut him off. Arshen could recognize it as horror filled over his heart. His eyes were shot to William. He was expecting to meet the gun, yet what he saw was the gun was raised not toward him, but toward himself.

"Will! What the hell are you doing?!" Arshen’s voice trembled as it rose. The bravery he had displayed evaporated in an instant as the reality hit him. William really wasn't there to kill him. The gun wasn't meant for him.

William sat there calmly, the gun steady in his hand. The cold barrel pressed firmly against his head. His eyes, once so cold and calculating, now left so empty and lost. It seemed as if the years of torment had finally caught him. A faint smile decorated William’s corner of lips. A haunting one which chilled Arshen down to his core.

"I told you, Arshen," he said ever so tender, barely above a whisper, "I am here to finish the unfinished business. And there’s only one way to do it."

"Don’t-" Arshen was trying to stand up by then. To rush over him, yet William’s voice rose.

"No!" William shouted, then his voice was returning to its calmness, "I just want you to hear me up, the moment you stood up, I will pull the trigger."

Arshen knew, he supposed to feel happy. The person who had made his living a hell was going to die. Hell! He even supposed to be the one who pulled the trigger. But in the end, he wasn’t sure, what was he feeling? Fear? Rage? Grief?

"Just… just put the gun down, William. This is not how we should end it."

But William merely shook his head, "No-"

"If you truly want to apologize, killing yourself isn’t an option, William!"

"I know that much, Arshen,” for the first time, his mask cracked. His eyes watered, and a single drop traced down his cheek. "But it’s the only way I know how to say I am sorry."

Time seemed to slow. Arshen’s mind raced. He just couldn’t think anymore. "Please, William…" Arshen’s voice broke. "We’re not finished, we-"

In Arshen's mind, he didn't know anymore. We what? Could he say they could fix it?

"We are," William interrupted. His voice eerily calm. "We were finished long time ago. I am merely late to the ending."

Before Arshen could move, before he could think of something, anything to convince William to stay alive, William closed his eyes, and pulled the trigger.

The gunshoot was the loudest sound Arshen heard since he stepped into the room. A sound which seemed to echo for an eternity. In an instant, the man who sat in front of him crumbled. Lifelessly.

In the little eternity, Arshen had hoped. He focused his vision on the lying body. Wish William might rise again, the way he always had.. But this time… he didn’t.