The Promise
Title: The Promise
Author: Ink_River10
Pairing: HanChul (of course)
Rating: G
Warnings: Angst
Disclaimer: I do not own Super Junior. I make no profit from this story
Summary: A wedding, and a gift to go along with it.
Notes: For arashi_nana because she wanted me to write it. Also...there may be a sequel. If y'know....you uh...want one.
No one notices him.
No one pays any attention to the figure sitting at the back of the church, wearing a pair of faded jeans and a dark blue hoodie.
No one notices him, because he does not want to be noticed.
He watches quietly as the music begins, and she makes her way down the aisle, her pale skin glowing in the candlelight. Her dress makes a soft, gentle swishing noise as she passes him. She is holding a wreath of beautiful white roses tipped with pink, and he digs his fingernails into his thigh to anchor himself there.
He watches (as they all do) as she makes her way to the front of the church, turning and handing her bouquet to her maid of honor. She turns then, oh so gracefully, and places her small, delicate hand into his.
Her groom.
The man at the back of the church looks away for a moment, unable to watch them. It is hard enough being here, but he cannot bear to see the way they look at each other. He affords himself just that one small thing.
He hears the minister begin to intone the low, monotonous litany of words that flows through the room and turns his face back to look at them. She is smiling, and her smile is perfect, a porcelain doll come to life. Her eyes are sparkling as she looks at her almost-husband.
The man at the back of the church sees the groom’s face. He looks nervous, but happy. He cannot take his eyes off her, and that is how it should be, shouldn’t it?
He digs his fingernails further into his thigh, feeling the sharp tips break through skin. He knows that he has drawn blood, but it is enough to keep the sob that has been building at the back of his throat at bay. The physical pain helps somehow, and he exhales slowly, feeling the cold sensation flow through his heart and the dull ache on his thigh. It is enough to contain it.
He listens as the minister binds them together for life, exacting promises from each of them of fidelity, faith, and love.
The onlookers hold their breath collectively as the minister announces that they are husband and wife. The man in the last pew forces himself to watch even though it hurts more than anything he’s ever felt.
But this is the choice that was made.
The kiss is sweet and brief, and is met with cheers from the crowd in the small church. They hold hands, and he watches as she gathers up her train, takes her bouquet from her maid of honor and they run down the aisle together, cheered on by clapping and music.
They rush past him without seeing him, and he watches as they run out of the church, swinging around in a dance and coming to a stop not far from the steps. He watches him lift her and she squeals in surprise and then they kiss again. He looks away once more, wondering why he is doing this.
But he already knows the answer.
The man watches silently as the rest of the wedding party leaves, followed by all the guests until only a few remain. He stands and follows them out, his hands joined together in the front pocket of his hoodie.
He can feel it there, burning a hole into his palm, but he keeps walking. He waits, silently observing the well wishers, watching as the reception line moves inch by slow inch towards the newlyweds. She is smiling and laughing at something, and he looks utterly perfect….so handsome that it hurts to look at them.
He knows there are a few people behind him, and that is what he wants. He does not want to be last.
Finally she is there, standing in front of him, and he sees a flicker of confusion on her face. But he does not look at her. He looks up, feeling the hoodie slide back off his head a few inches. The sun is warm on his forehead, but he is so cold he doesn’t feel it at all.
He looks away from her and towards him. The groom. He looks upon a face he has seen a thousand times in his dreams. A face he could not forget if the earth ended and he was the last human upon it.
HanGeng’s eyes widen in shock and recognition, and he gasps a little.
“Heechul?” He exhales. Next to him, his new wife stiffens, and Heechul sees her grip HanGeng’s arm.
He ignores her, his eyes only upon HanGeng. He withdraws it from his pocket and presses his hand into HanGeng’s.
“Congratulations.” He says quietly. “I’m giving this back to you now.”
HanGeng opens his mouth, but no words come out. He can see the deep and endless pain in Heechul’s eyes and it is too much to look at. Instead, he looks down at his hand and sees it there, worn and frayed and brittle now with age.
It is a twisted bit of twine shaped into a ring.
A memory floods him, pulling him away from his own wedding, to a night nearly six years beforehand, when he picked up this simple little twistie-tie off a counter and wound it carefully around Heechul’s finger.
“I love you. It’s you and me, forever. I promise.”
It had been an act that eerily echoed the very same thing he had done just a half an hour ago. It was a promise he hadn’t kept.
He looks up, opening his mouth to say words that will make no difference now, but Heechul is already gone, walking away towards the path that leads to the huge white tent where they will celebrate tonight. He knows he will not find Heechul inside that tent when they arrive inside it. He watches, his head swimming and his throat clogged tightly with the choices he has made.
“HanGeng.” Mi Liang tugs his arm slightly. “We have guests.” She says, her voice is edged with warning. HanGeng takes a precious second to mourn what might have been, then places the brittle, broken little ring into his pocket.
He takes a deep breath and smiles obediently at the last of the guests, feeling his wife’s hand laid gently, but possessively on his arm.
.
If you want a sequel, let me know. :)
Author: Ink_River10
Pairing: HanChul (of course)
Rating: G
Warnings: Angst
Disclaimer: I do not own Super Junior. I make no profit from this story
Summary: A wedding, and a gift to go along with it.
Notes: For arashi_nana because she wanted me to write it. Also...there may be a sequel. If y'know....you uh...want one.
No one notices him.
No one pays any attention to the figure sitting at the back of the church, wearing a pair of faded jeans and a dark blue hoodie.
No one notices him, because he does not want to be noticed.
He watches quietly as the music begins, and she makes her way down the aisle, her pale skin glowing in the candlelight. Her dress makes a soft, gentle swishing noise as she passes him. She is holding a wreath of beautiful white roses tipped with pink, and he digs his fingernails into his thigh to anchor himself there.
He watches (as they all do) as she makes her way to the front of the church, turning and handing her bouquet to her maid of honor. She turns then, oh so gracefully, and places her small, delicate hand into his.
Her groom.
The man at the back of the church looks away for a moment, unable to watch them. It is hard enough being here, but he cannot bear to see the way they look at each other. He affords himself just that one small thing.
He hears the minister begin to intone the low, monotonous litany of words that flows through the room and turns his face back to look at them. She is smiling, and her smile is perfect, a porcelain doll come to life. Her eyes are sparkling as she looks at her almost-husband.
The man at the back of the church sees the groom’s face. He looks nervous, but happy. He cannot take his eyes off her, and that is how it should be, shouldn’t it?
He digs his fingernails further into his thigh, feeling the sharp tips break through skin. He knows that he has drawn blood, but it is enough to keep the sob that has been building at the back of his throat at bay. The physical pain helps somehow, and he exhales slowly, feeling the cold sensation flow through his heart and the dull ache on his thigh. It is enough to contain it.
He listens as the minister binds them together for life, exacting promises from each of them of fidelity, faith, and love.
The onlookers hold their breath collectively as the minister announces that they are husband and wife. The man in the last pew forces himself to watch even though it hurts more than anything he’s ever felt.
But this is the choice that was made.
The kiss is sweet and brief, and is met with cheers from the crowd in the small church. They hold hands, and he watches as she gathers up her train, takes her bouquet from her maid of honor and they run down the aisle together, cheered on by clapping and music.
They rush past him without seeing him, and he watches as they run out of the church, swinging around in a dance and coming to a stop not far from the steps. He watches him lift her and she squeals in surprise and then they kiss again. He looks away once more, wondering why he is doing this.
But he already knows the answer.
The man watches silently as the rest of the wedding party leaves, followed by all the guests until only a few remain. He stands and follows them out, his hands joined together in the front pocket of his hoodie.
He can feel it there, burning a hole into his palm, but he keeps walking. He waits, silently observing the well wishers, watching as the reception line moves inch by slow inch towards the newlyweds. She is smiling and laughing at something, and he looks utterly perfect….so handsome that it hurts to look at them.
He knows there are a few people behind him, and that is what he wants. He does not want to be last.
Finally she is there, standing in front of him, and he sees a flicker of confusion on her face. But he does not look at her. He looks up, feeling the hoodie slide back off his head a few inches. The sun is warm on his forehead, but he is so cold he doesn’t feel it at all.
He looks away from her and towards him. The groom. He looks upon a face he has seen a thousand times in his dreams. A face he could not forget if the earth ended and he was the last human upon it.
HanGeng’s eyes widen in shock and recognition, and he gasps a little.
“Heechul?” He exhales. Next to him, his new wife stiffens, and Heechul sees her grip HanGeng’s arm.
He ignores her, his eyes only upon HanGeng. He withdraws it from his pocket and presses his hand into HanGeng’s.
“Congratulations.” He says quietly. “I’m giving this back to you now.”
HanGeng opens his mouth, but no words come out. He can see the deep and endless pain in Heechul’s eyes and it is too much to look at. Instead, he looks down at his hand and sees it there, worn and frayed and brittle now with age.
It is a twisted bit of twine shaped into a ring.
A memory floods him, pulling him away from his own wedding, to a night nearly six years beforehand, when he picked up this simple little twistie-tie off a counter and wound it carefully around Heechul’s finger.
“I love you. It’s you and me, forever. I promise.”
It had been an act that eerily echoed the very same thing he had done just a half an hour ago. It was a promise he hadn’t kept.
He looks up, opening his mouth to say words that will make no difference now, but Heechul is already gone, walking away towards the path that leads to the huge white tent where they will celebrate tonight. He knows he will not find Heechul inside that tent when they arrive inside it. He watches, his head swimming and his throat clogged tightly with the choices he has made.
“HanGeng.” Mi Liang tugs his arm slightly. “We have guests.” She says, her voice is edged with warning. HanGeng takes a precious second to mourn what might have been, then places the brittle, broken little ring into his pocket.
He takes a deep breath and smiles obediently at the last of the guests, feeling his wife’s hand laid gently, but possessively on his arm.
.
If you want a sequel, let me know. :)