I can only see you
Title: I can only see you
Fandom: Super Junior
Pairing: Sungmin/Ryeowook
Tell me a story, Sungmin says, examining Ryeowook's fingers in the dim light, and Ryeowook bows his head and says, okay.
The village elders keep Sungmin in a house miles away from the town, ever since they realized he had no heart. It's not that Sungmin himself understands this; as far as he is concerned, he was born with peculiarities that were by no means deficiencies, only he cannot claim to be a god and there is no other explanation than his being a demon.
There were spells, at first, and charms strung around the gate of his home, but it was of no use; his mother had died of grief and his father disappeared soon afterwards. It might have hurt, then, but that is inconsequential. The point is (if there is ever a point to this story), Sungmin lives believing that only he and Ryeowook exist, in this small space he calls his world.
You are mine, he marks with his tongue on Ryeowook's skin, the same way the village marks him out for misfortune. Infinite consequences for insignificant flaws. There is no future left to speak of, other than what Ryeowook believes in.
Hope is a fragile, incredible thing.
Some fanatics build a religion in his name. If this is not proof of the god-child, they say, then what else is? They send small offerings to him, sacrifices, so to speak, food and animals and expensive silk and, finally, a servant with the blood of mermaids in his veins.
I've always wanted a heart, is the first thing Sungmin tells him.
Did you know? I can make you immortal, is the first secret Ryeowook tells him, and Sungmin laughs, tossing his head back, as if to challenge him.
Ryeowook is not his friend because Sungmin doesn't know what that is, and Ryeowook doesn't feel the need to become his friend. There is a curious line between the rulers and the ruled, between what is proper and what is disrespectful, and Sungmin cannot understand what it is he sees in Ryeowook's eyes when he guides Sungmin's unmarred foot into an elegant slipper.
It is only a strange thing, called compassion.
Ryeowook gives him a cup of bitter wine every night, laced with longing. It is the color of blood, and it soon grows tasteless as the days go by.
What is this? Sungmin asks the first time, inspecting it with a disdainful eye.
All my love, Ryeowook says, smiling quietly, and Sungmin drinks it in without another word.
Sungmin has his small fears. Inadequate they may be, it's enough of an epiphany to make him realize Something Important. They take the form of small, enclosed spaces, or creaking noises in the hallway, or imagined monsters reaching out to touch his ankle until he screams and kicks and forgets where he is and who he is supposed to be.
It's me, Sungmin, Ryeowook says, holding out his palm, looking apologetic even as Sungmin cowers away, it's only me.
God has a name. It is not Sungmin.
When Ryeowook cuts his hair in the veranda, Sungmin impatiently knocks his legs back and forth, fighting to keep the lethargy out of his system.
Don't, Ryeowook says, you'll hurt yourself, but Sungmin ignores him and turns his head to look at Ryeowook's wrists, the skin peeking out of his sleeves. He gets a cut across his cheek for his disobedience, and Ryeowook presses he hem of his shirt against Sungmin's wound, clicking his tongue.
It's not important, Sungmin says, pulling away.
But it must hurt, Ryeowook says, setting the pair of scissors to the wooden floor, the smallest things always do, don't they?
This is how it feels for Sungmin's mind; it starts with small, open wounds, and grows until he feels it all too keenly.
Later, the cup grows heavy in his hand.
You put something in it, didn't you? Sungmin asks, bone tired and eyeing Ryeowook warily even as Ryeowook prepares his dinner with a contented smile, it never used to be like this, before, when you didn't make me drink that -- that --
Make? It's a lie in itself.
Do you know what I feed you, Sungmin? Ryeowook asks, smoothing his hair down with the back of his hand, my love, all of it.
Everything starts and ends with a beating heart.
Tomorrow, I'll have nothing left in me, Ryeowook confesses, resting his head against Sungmin's stomach, listening to something beating -- he knew it, once, and felt it in his chest, when he still felt pain.
Did you know? My heart is yours.
Tell me a story, Sungmin says, examining Ryeowook's fingers in the dim light, and there is no answer, no, only the faint thrum of Ryeowook's heart in Sungmin's body, where he feels it the most.
Fandom: Super Junior
Pairing: Sungmin/Ryeowook
Tell me a story, Sungmin says, examining Ryeowook's fingers in the dim light, and Ryeowook bows his head and says, okay.
The village elders keep Sungmin in a house miles away from the town, ever since they realized he had no heart. It's not that Sungmin himself understands this; as far as he is concerned, he was born with peculiarities that were by no means deficiencies, only he cannot claim to be a god and there is no other explanation than his being a demon.
There were spells, at first, and charms strung around the gate of his home, but it was of no use; his mother had died of grief and his father disappeared soon afterwards. It might have hurt, then, but that is inconsequential. The point is (if there is ever a point to this story), Sungmin lives believing that only he and Ryeowook exist, in this small space he calls his world.
You are mine, he marks with his tongue on Ryeowook's skin, the same way the village marks him out for misfortune. Infinite consequences for insignificant flaws. There is no future left to speak of, other than what Ryeowook believes in.
Hope is a fragile, incredible thing.
Some fanatics build a religion in his name. If this is not proof of the god-child, they say, then what else is? They send small offerings to him, sacrifices, so to speak, food and animals and expensive silk and, finally, a servant with the blood of mermaids in his veins.
I've always wanted a heart, is the first thing Sungmin tells him.
Did you know? I can make you immortal, is the first secret Ryeowook tells him, and Sungmin laughs, tossing his head back, as if to challenge him.
Ryeowook is not his friend because Sungmin doesn't know what that is, and Ryeowook doesn't feel the need to become his friend. There is a curious line between the rulers and the ruled, between what is proper and what is disrespectful, and Sungmin cannot understand what it is he sees in Ryeowook's eyes when he guides Sungmin's unmarred foot into an elegant slipper.
It is only a strange thing, called compassion.
Ryeowook gives him a cup of bitter wine every night, laced with longing. It is the color of blood, and it soon grows tasteless as the days go by.
What is this? Sungmin asks the first time, inspecting it with a disdainful eye.
All my love, Ryeowook says, smiling quietly, and Sungmin drinks it in without another word.
Sungmin has his small fears. Inadequate they may be, it's enough of an epiphany to make him realize Something Important. They take the form of small, enclosed spaces, or creaking noises in the hallway, or imagined monsters reaching out to touch his ankle until he screams and kicks and forgets where he is and who he is supposed to be.
It's me, Sungmin, Ryeowook says, holding out his palm, looking apologetic even as Sungmin cowers away, it's only me.
God has a name. It is not Sungmin.
When Ryeowook cuts his hair in the veranda, Sungmin impatiently knocks his legs back and forth, fighting to keep the lethargy out of his system.
Don't, Ryeowook says, you'll hurt yourself, but Sungmin ignores him and turns his head to look at Ryeowook's wrists, the skin peeking out of his sleeves. He gets a cut across his cheek for his disobedience, and Ryeowook presses he hem of his shirt against Sungmin's wound, clicking his tongue.
It's not important, Sungmin says, pulling away.
But it must hurt, Ryeowook says, setting the pair of scissors to the wooden floor, the smallest things always do, don't they?
This is how it feels for Sungmin's mind; it starts with small, open wounds, and grows until he feels it all too keenly.
Later, the cup grows heavy in his hand.
You put something in it, didn't you? Sungmin asks, bone tired and eyeing Ryeowook warily even as Ryeowook prepares his dinner with a contented smile, it never used to be like this, before, when you didn't make me drink that -- that --
Make? It's a lie in itself.
Do you know what I feed you, Sungmin? Ryeowook asks, smoothing his hair down with the back of his hand, my love, all of it.
Everything starts and ends with a beating heart.
Tomorrow, I'll have nothing left in me, Ryeowook confesses, resting his head against Sungmin's stomach, listening to something beating -- he knew it, once, and felt it in his chest, when he still felt pain.
Did you know? My heart is yours.
Tell me a story, Sungmin says, examining Ryeowook's fingers in the dim light, and there is no answer, no, only the faint thrum of Ryeowook's heart in Sungmin's body, where he feels it the most.