[FOR GERALDINEDRAGON] how it's like to fall [1/5]
Title: how it's like to fall
For: geraldinedragon
Rating: NC-17
Length: ~34.5k
Warnings: (PLEASE TAKE THESE SERIOUSLY!) Infidelity, genderbend, grisly descriptions of murder, physical disabilities, mental illness, mentions of dubcon/noncon, physical and emotional abuse, heavy angst, character death.
Author's Note: Dear geraldinedragon, thank you for providing such lovely prompts for me to choose from, and thank you for giving me an opportunity to study the movie (ahem! Jo Insung's ass is gorgeous) for the sake of writing this fic. I've tried my best to not follow the plotline completely, so I hope you will enjoy the twists I've added to it. I'd like to apologise in advance if this isn't what you're looking for :c
To anyone who might be reading this, please overlook the historical inaccuracies as well as the glaringly obvious problems with regards to their nationalities in this story, hah.
Thank you to C for bouncing ideas with me, without you this might not have been completed at all, hah. And thank you to F, too, for cheering me on!
Summary: (인간중독/Obsessed!AU) Yifan's life changed the moment he came across the Chinese doe-eyed beauty who had just moved in across the road. Both tied in marriage, both with duties to fulfill, but nothing can seem to stop Yifan from falling into a downward spiral with the name of Lu Han - even though it will cost him everything he had been fighting for.
"I propose a toast!" One of the men in the room, who evidently has had too much to drink, considering how flushed his face was at the moment, called out with his beer mug raised in his direction, and he forced a smile to acknowledge it. "To our brave and mighty leader, Colonel Wu Yifan! Without him, we might have died on that battlefield, and we'd be having a jolly gathering in hell instead!"
A chorus of raucous whistling and cheers erupted in the room, and Yifan found himself getting dragged to stand by someone beside him. In any other situation, when his men were more sober, they would not have dared to pull such a bold stunt. But tonight - tonight they were celebrating, and all forms of decorum have gone to hell with their inebriation. Yifan laughed and gave in to their coaxing, pretending as though he had had enough to drink, even though he hadn't even reached the bottom of his first mug of beer.
Grinning widely and shedding his usual uptight demeanour, coupled with a feigned tipsy sway for additional effect, Yifan gestured for them to quiet down for him to speak, thankful that they still had a shred of consciousness in them to follow his orders. "You're flattering me too much. Our victory is not my doing alone." He raised his own glass in a toast. "It is thanks to you, my capable men, that we have achieved victory in Vietnam. This celebration is as much for you as it is for me."
It was all that was needed to get the celebratory party going, though Yifan had to force his liquor down in full view of his subordinates, citing he had to be a part of the celebration, and it wasn't decent if he weren't as smashed as they were.
He was thankful they already had enough alcohol in them at that point of time, though. It didn't take much for them to spiral into a completely drunken state, and they were furiously making out with the escorts they had hired when Yifan looked next, acting as though they were the only ones in the room.
Glancing around surreptitiously to ensure everyone was already too knocked out to care, Yifan exhaled and quickly slipped out of the room, leaving behind his subordinates who were in various states of undress, some already close to the point of being naked. His ears rang as he leaned against the side of the building, taking in deep breaths of the cooling night air when he finally managed to escape outside. The intense throbbing in his head died down to nothing more than a dull ache five minutes later, much to Yifan's gratefulness. At least the silence allowed him to think, Yifan mused as he lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply, feeling the last of his nerves settle as the nicotine took over his senses.
It wasn't long before his guilt began gnawing at him, though, when he thought about his fallen comrades. His batallion might have won the skirmish in Vietnam, but many of his subordinates' lives were sacrificed in the process of achieving their victory. Even when he closed his eyes, he could see the ghosts of his fallen men, losing a limb or two as they crumbled to the ground from a landmine, asking Yifan to move on because their batallion needed their leader to steer them to victory, that one casualty or two from the lower-ranked officers didn't matter.
Yifan swallowed against the invisible lump in his throat at the memory. What sort of leader survived longer than his subordinates in a battlefield? And what sort of leader would indulge in a celebration for their victory, when more than half his men were dead and were buried in shoddy makeshift graves in Vietnam, their bodies doomed to never be seen by their family members ever again?
Yifan glanced back at his rowdy bunch of subordinates who were still drowning themselves in alcohol, and wondered if anyone else dreamt of the same things Yifan did. For tonight, though, Yifan thought his subordinates earned their right to celebrate, while he shouldered the rest of the burden on their behalf. It was only the proper thing to do, as their leader.
--
He dreamt in various shades of red - mostly in the colour of blood.
There was never a night when Yifan would find himself sleeping peacefully, his dreams mostly invaded by his memories of the battlefield, right from the very first man he had killed - with a bullet right through the eye. Each kill of his only grew more grosteque as time passed, when the desperation to keep living pulled him under and turned him into a cold-blooded, merciless killing machine. By the time he'd claimed his last life on the battlefield in Vietnam - by slicing the head clean off the neck of the opposing troop's commander with a machete in an ambush - Yifan didn't even blink when the man's blood had splattered across his face, painting it brilliant red and staining his olfactory senses with a distinct stench of rusted metal.
Yifan remembered how annoyed he'd been from the mess, wiping the blood off with a discarded rag before taking his enemy's head with him, sticking it onto a stake in the middle of the enemy's camp as a warning before he'd left. The enemy troopers who had survived the ambush surrendered on the very next morning, their men's morale much too low for them to fight after the gruesome loss of their commander.
Sometimes, Yifan dreamt about his own men. How some of them had their lower limbs blasted apart when they stepped on a well-hidden landmine, how they had to leave these men behind with only their torso and upper body remaining as they bled to death on the ground, very much conscious and in excruciating pain. Some of them died less tragically, with a bullet through their heart or their neck, severing their main blood vessels and ending them almost immediately. On most times though, it was supposed to be Yifan in their position, had his subordinates not insisted that they went to scout the vicinity before Yifan led them forth.
Yifan always, always ended up dreaming of himself in their shoes. He had died and lived and died again countless times in his mind, to the point that he could no longer pick apart what was real and what was not. Both dreams and reality were equally hellish to him.
That night - about a week after his return from the massacre in Vietnam - Yifan again found himself jolting awake from his sleep, his senses on an overdrive as he dreamt about the ambush. It wasn't until a while later that Yifan came to, and he was horrified when he found himself training his gun at Song Qian's - his wife's - sleeping form.
As quietly as he could in his panicked state, Yifan quickly walked out of the room with his gun in hand, eager to extract himself from Song Qian's immediate vicinity. Vietnam had turned him into a monster, one who would subconsciously hurt even his own wife when his primal instinct to survive kicked in.
Yifan expertly removed the bullet cartridge and dismantled most of the gun to the best of his ability, before chucking the pieces into one of the drawers, slamming it shut so that it was out of his sight and far from his reach.
He didn't want to hurt anyone else but himself with his recent nightmares. He wouldn't be able to live it down.
--
"It's getting worse these days. The dreams."
Junmyeon stopped writing and placed his fountain pen on the tabletop with a soft clatter when Yifan finally spoke up, after having spent the last twenty minutes since he'd stepped into Junmyeon's office sitting in silence. Behind them, the grandfather clock continued to tick, filling the air with a constant, comfortable noise, allowing them ample time to think what should be said next.
"Tell me about them. Are they still the same?" Junmyeon's voice was as neutral as ever, though the small frown he was now wearing betrayed him. Yifan didn't call Junmyeon out on it, though. He was more than thankful he had someone to listen to him - Song Qian would likely end up throwing up in his lap if he ever tried describing everything in detail. Keeping everything to himself couldn't possibly be healthy, either, he knew.
And Yifan was already ill enough.
"Yes, for the most part," Yifan affirmed, swallowing thickly when a slew of images came to mind and sent unpleasant chills down his spine. He fumbled around for his box of cigarettes and lit a stick, feeling himself calm down a little after one inhale. "But I nearly shot Song Qian in my sleep yesterday." And, as an afterthought, "I swear I have been taking my medications on time and in the correct dosage."
Junmyeon's gaze on him when Yifan reopened his eyes was disapproving. It couldn't be the smoke bothering him; Junmyeon had been surrounded by men who smoked like chimneys for the later part of his existence, after all.
"You should kick that habit of yours. It's only going to aggravate your anxiety." Junmyeon jutted his chin in the direction of the cancerous stick currently jammed in between Yifan's lips. Ah, so that was it.
Yifan stubbed out the cigarette at once. Then lit another up. "I can't, Junmyeon. It's the only other way I have to cope with... things."
Junmyeon seemed as though he was about to launch into a lengthy I'm the qualified medical practitioner here discussion with Yifan, then aborted the thought. He probably remembered all the times he had argued with Yifan about it and failed. Yifan was a very stubborn man, after all.
"Fine; I'll increase the dosage of your medications." Junmyeon finally relented, but paused in the middle of giving Yifan his prescription. "This is only a temporary measure, Yifan. Please, come back if you feel you are not getting any better, so that we can think of something else to help you with."
"I will," Yifan promised as he took the prescription slip from Junmyeon, readying himself to leave. Then another thought came to mind. "Will you be joining us at the Officers' Ball this weekend, Junmyeon?" Yifan asked, even though he could already guess the answer. Junmyeon was as asocial as anyone could get. Spending my time with rowdy military personnel is not my cup of tea, he had told Yifan once.
"I'm afraid not, Yifan. Promise me you will stay away from the alcohol, though. You know how it messes up with your drugs."
"Sure," Yifan waved over his shoulder upon getting Junmyeon's response. Junmyeon didn't have to know that alcohol was something else Yifan couldn't really quit.
--
No matter how many times Yifan had taken part in these celebrations, he still wasn't used to the glitz and glamour which surrounded it - found it distasteful, even. Military officers were supposed to live a simple life, seeing as when they were trapped in a war zone, everything boiled down to the bare basics. Unfortunately, the higher they climbed the ranks, the easier it was for them to forget about the hardships they had to endure in the past.
Yifan didn't blame them, though, not when all they seemed to do was to bark orders from where the enemies couldn't even see hide nor hair of them.
He, on the other hand, had just returned from a life of being in constant fear that he could not make it out of that war-damned country alive, the memories accompanying it still vividly imprinted at the back of his eyelids. It was incredibly tasteless, these events, even if it was meant to celebrate another of their troop's wins in Vietnam.
A celebration of success in war was also an indirect celebration of death, what with the amount of lives lost in the process of achieving victory - both the innocent and the not-so-innocent. That was what Yifan believed.
Yifan gulped down the flute of champagne to wash away the acid taste on his tongue, and replaced the empty flute with another. Song Qian, whom Yifan had nearly forgotten was clinging onto his arm, tugged at him lightly at that.
"You might want to slow down with your drinking," she tip-toed to whisper in his ear, lips brushing against its shell. Her perfume was intoxicating, and Yifan found himself successfully distracted from his morbid thoughts.
"As you wish, my dear." He tightened his hold around Song Qian's waist and pulled her closer to him - a show of possession. As distracted as he was, Yifan wasn't oblivious to the way some of the higher-ranked officers were looking at his wife lasciviously. She was in a dress of velvet that evening, the darkness of magenta bringing out the beauty of her eyes and smile. Its design was modest, though it hugged her body in all the right places, accentuating curves which were usually hidden beneath looser sundresses.
Song Qian was gorgeous, Yifan knew, but it didn't give them the right to forget that she was the daughter of their commander-in-chief.
"Colonel Wu, sir-" Someone approached him and Song Qian just then, and he turned around to see someone of his height smiling back at him. Yifan raised an eyebrow, because he wasn't aware of anyone else on the camp who could rival Yifan in terms of height. This was someone new. "-good evening. I apologise for not introducing myself earlier, but I have been busy with the moving and all."
"You are-?" Yifan enquired, smiling politely. He idly noted that this man was his subordinate, from the stars which decorated his shoulder.
"Jung Yunho, sir. I am your new Lieutenant Colonel." The man with a chiseled appearance responded with a respectful bow, as was expected of a lower-ranked officer. "I look forward to working closely with you, sir. I have heard of a lot of great things about you and your heroism in Vietnam. And you too, Mrs Wu."
It took Yifan a while before he recalled that indeed he had been told by Jonghyun he was to expect a new second-in-command joining him soon, seeing as his previous partner had sacrificed himself during the war in order to keep Yifan alive. Yifan swallowed hard at that thought and mustered the most genuine smile he could manage, hoping Yunho didn't notice the strain behind it. The last thing he wanted was for Yunho to misunderstand that his presence was not welcomed, when Yifan was in fact still mourning over the loss of his close friend.
"Ah, yes-" He said as he shook Yunho's hand. "It is nice to finally meet you." Then, glancing around curiously, Yifan found himself asking, "Did you attend the ball alone?" It struck him as odd, because by the time one reached the ranks of a Lieutenant, an army officer was already likely to have been married, having survived enough wars to have a healthy sum of money in their possession to start a family, yet not nearly enough confidence that they'll be able to wait until after the next skirmish to find a partner. There was only so much that a comfort woman could do to satisfy their sexual cravings - they, for one, did not offer a sense of security, some normalcy that an army personnel yearned to go home to, if only to take their minds off the war.
Yunho understood him perfectly, it seemed, for he smiled back in return before craning his neck in search of a person amidst the crowd. "I appreciate your concern, sir, but my wife has just gone to the restroom, and-" He cut himself off just then, smile growing wider as he welcomed someone with open arms. "-ah, speak of the devil. Colonel Wu, let me introduce you to my wife, Lu Han."
At first, Yifan had been expecting to find someone plain-looking - the more beautiful women were usually married to the higher-ranked officers, mostly because of the promise of wealth and comfort in life everyone craved for in these war-torn days - but he was proved very, very wrong when he looked down and found a doe-eyed beauty smiling demurely back at him. At that particular moment, it was almost as though the world around him had stopped moving.
Lu Han was in a beautiful and bold dress of powder blue silk that evening, its sleeves nonexistent and her back bare for everyone to see, sending imaginations going wild, if the sudden increase in attention being thrown in their direction was any indication of it. But Yifan could only stop and admire the elegant slope of her shoulder blades and the flawlessness of her fair skin, nothing more. It wouldn't be appropriate.
But she struck him as a woman who knew of the beauty she possessed, and owned the courage to present it to the world. Her boldness was a rare gem in a society which pretended to be open to change, when it was extremely conservative in reality, and Yifan could already hear the beginnings of vicious gossip coming from the mouths of the other women.
"My, she is lovely." It was Song Qian's exclamation which pulled Yifan back to present time, though Yifan felt relieved to note that his wife wasn't someone who'd get jealous of another's beauty this easily.
"Indeed," Yifan concurred with a nod, pressing a brief, polite kiss to the back of her hand in greeting. The tiny shudder which wracked though Lu Han's body did not go unnoticed. "Rarely does a person aside from Qian command the attention of the entire room the moment she walks in."
Yunho's wife inclined her head in thanks. "You are too kind with your words, Colonel. I am thoroughly flattered." The moment Lu Han's brilliant brown eyes cut up to look at Yifan through her beautiful long lashes, he could feel himself holding his breath, mesmerised. Lu Han was the image of practiced coyness - a right mix of shy and flirtatious, tempting and mysterious - but Yifan knew that there was a little more than that, swimming beneath her careful mask, no matter how well she had taken care to hide it.
Yifan was intrigued.
"Colonel Wu, I mean no offense to your lovely wife, but would you be interested in having Lu Han for a dance?" Yunho asked just then, shocking Yifan out of his trance-like state. It was almost as though Yunho could read his mind.
The worst part was probably the fact that Yifan was tempted to take Yunho up on his offer, but he stopped himself short when he remembered his position, and Song Qian's identity as the commander-in-chief's daughter. Song Qian wasn't a person who'd mind, but still. He didn't need to invite more gossips than was necessary. Instead, Yifan took a nervous sip of his champagne and stepped backwards slightly, showing that he was declining Yunho's suggestion. "Thank you, but I simply must move on to talking to the rest of the officers, lest they think of me as arrogant. Please, do excuse Song Qian and I."
Thankfully, the couple did not appear offended by the rejection. "Of course, sir. My wife and I hope that you will have a pleasant evening." Yunho bowed, and then they were on their way, mingling with the rest of the officers in attendance.
Even then, the distance which separated them did not stop Yifan's gaze from wandering back to Lu Han time and again for the rest of the evening. What bothered him though, was how he seemed to always, always meet Lu Han's gaze at such times.
Yifan failed to realise the beginnings of a small flame from that very moment on, or the dangers of playing with fire.
--
"They absolutely adore you, Yifan. This is great news." Song Qian gushed as her hands kneaded expertly at the sore muscles on his back, the way she knew he liked it. They were relaxing on the bed after cleaning themselves up, and Song Qian was currently straddling Yifan's waist, putting all her weight into her hands as they wrung the tension out of Yifan.
"Really? How could you tell?" Yifan mumbled into the pillow, eyes closed in perfect bliss. Song Qian was older than him in terms of age, and that in itself had invited quite a number of malicious remarks, but Yifan had quashed them by showing that he could be the perfect match for Song Qian with his accomplishments. He honestly could not see what was wrong with it.
The laughter which escaped Song Qian's lips was melodious, almost like a song. "Did you not see how they were all vying for your attention? They were all impressed with your achievements, and at such a young age, too."
Admittedly, Yifan hadn't noticed that at all, not when a certain doe-eyed beauty had been commandeering his attention for the entire evening. Song Qian didn't have to know about that bit, though.
Distracted, he didn't even realise that a simple "what does it matter?" had rolled off his tongue, until the weight which had been atop him suddenly disappeared.
"This is not the time to be joking around, dear." Song Qian's scandalised face appeared next to him on the bed. "It will affect your chances at being promoted to Lieutenant General. Is that not what you have always yearned for?"
"Yes, but-" Yifan started, and instantly realised that it was the wrong thing to say when Song Qian cupped his face and held his gaze, completely concerned about his apparently abnormal behaviour.
"Is there something wrong?" Song Qian asked urgently, her eyes frantically searching his for answers.
Yifan shook his head and held her hands, hoping his gaze was strong enough to reassure her. "I am merely exhausted, is all. You are worrying too much, Qian."
"But-" Song Qian started again, only to be silenced when Yifan surged forward to claim her lips with a kiss. It happened so suddenly that all she could muster was a soft whimper, before she completely melted in his arms.
Out of the corner of his eye, though, Yifan took notice of the calendar hanging on the wall, and noticed the red circle around the day's date. It was no secret that Song Qian yearned greatly to be a mother, and had even asked Junmyeon for advice on getting pregnant - which eventually led her into plotting the dates for when she was supposedly most fertile on the calendar, all for the sake of increasing her chances at conceiving. It was the only time they ever had sex these days.
Yifan gently lowered Song Qian onto the bed, pulling her negligee off in one swift motion, his hands running over the planes of her back as his lips slid down her torso. Song Qian arched into his mouth when he mouthed at the swell of her breast, tongue flicking teasingly at her already-hard nipple. When Song Qian's legs came up to wrap around Yifan's waist and to pull him in, he could feel the dampness of her lace panties, which was already soaked through. Sometimes, Yifan would think that Song Qian was too easily arousable; it didn't take much for him to rile her up, and he wasn't even close to being hard yet.
As usual, Yifan reached into his pants and wrapped his hand around his cock, fisting himself as he continued to mouth at Song Qian's ample breasts. This time, though, Yifan's mind was invaded by a single pervasive thought - of Lu Han looking up at him through her lashes, the way she had done at the Officers' Ball. Yifan stuttered a little, because it was completely unexpected, but he picked himself back up quick enough for Song Qian to not have realised anything at all.
It was difficult, but Yifan managed to keep his mind from wandering, focusing instead on his wife who was moaning wantonly for him by the time he'd gotten himself to full hardness. He raised Song Qian's legs and hooked them over his shoulder as he pushed his length into her, and began thrusting methodically into her, knowing the precise angle he needed to hit her sweet spot. She came with his name on her lips moments later, and the clenching of her walls around his cock had him spilling over, too.
Once they had gotten over their orgasm high, Song Qian immediately crawled under the covers and went to sleep after cleaning herself up, leaving Yifan to his own thoughts in the darkness of the room. No breathtaking kisses to seal the deed, no affectionate cuddling - nothing.
He couldn't even remember the last time he had felt passion towards Song Qian. Perhaps the war had changed him; Yifan couldn't be certain. But after leaving and coming back for the second time now, Yifan knew one thing was for sure - the affection he had once held for Song Qian was a dying flame. He was holding on because he had to, because divorces were unheard of those days, because he had not fulfilled Song Qian's wishes of becoming a mother, owing to the time he had spent being abroad, fighting a war for his country.
Frighteningly, Yifan couldn't fathom just how much longer he could hold on to this glaringly dysfunctional relationship, where one was sacrificing another's happiness for their own.
They were supposed to walk together on this path of life, but Yifan could not stop himself from feeling that they were slowly drifting apart.
--
The room was too silent, even though there were two of them seated on the bed, backs facing each other. Lu Han, who had the mirror on her side, could see the many war scars which littered her husband's back, as well as her front obtained through less than savoury manners, and her own reflection made her sick.
"You did well today, Lu Han. Everyone could not take their eyes off you. Especially Colonel Wu." Yunho was the first to speak up that evening, shattering the almost-deafening silence which had settled in between them. Lu Han was suddenly engulfed with so much self-loathing that she wished he hadn't said anything at all. Maybe then she would have been able to pretend that her life wasn't such a huge joke.
Lu Han knew Yunho was up to something - she could recognise that glint in his eyes when he turned to look at her, his smirk clearly reflected in the mirror. She lowered her head immediately, not wanting that image to be the last thing she had to see before she went to bed. She drew her sleeping robe shut around her, unable to bear the thought of yet another man running his hands across her bare skin. She felt plenty disgusting as it was.
"What do you intend to say, Yunho?" Lu Han snapped coldly, keeping her voice as steady as she could. She wasn't about to give Yunho the satisfaction of knowing that he was destroying her sanity, bit by slow bit.
Yunho's smirk grew wider at her question. "Should you not know better by now, Lu Han?" It isn't the first time you're doing this. Do not feign innocence in my presence."
Lu Han held her head high, preserving what was left of her dignity. "I do not promise success."
"I am not looking for your promises, Lu Han." Yunho seethed this time, probably angry at the thought that she might not give her all. Could he blame her? Lu Han was getting exhausted of this life. "I absolutely cannot accept it if you failed."
With a huff, Yunho flicked the lights off and threw the covers over himself, leaving Lu Han to deal with her own thoughts in the darkness. Lu Han had told herself time and again that she would not bend to his will, nor will she show her weakness to anyone else in this world, but still it did not stop Lu Han from falling asleep with drying tear tracks on her cheeks. She felt completely filthy, even though nothing has happened yet - she didn't think she'd stop feeling that way for the rest of her life.
--
Yifan rolled his eyes for the umpteenth time from behind his shades when the ladies surrounding him giggled again at something which he wasn't bothered to listen in on, almost bored out of his mind. A crumpled cigarette box laid forgotten at the bottom of his uniform's pocket, another box in his hand already half-gone by now. Junmyeon would not be pleased if he ever found out that Yifan had made it through two packs of cigarettes before the clock had even struck twelve-hundred-hours.
As it was, Yifan could already feel the beginnings of a throbbing ache in his head from too much nicotine, but still he inhaled deeply around the stick between his lips, relishing in the way the cancerous smoke filled up his lungs. At least it kept his attention away from the mindless chatter happening around him.
Yifan hadn't wanted to come, preferring to instead stay at home so that he could catch up on his sleep, after having his night terrorised by nightmares - his usual ones of murder and blood and pained screams. Song Qian would have none of that, though, cheerfully insisting that Yifan joined her at the new hospital's officiating ceremony. Song Qian was the president of the Officers' Wives Club, hence her need to flock around these social events.
"It will do a lot of good to raise your image, if your face was shown on the papers. There will be a number of reporters there, you know. At least show them you care about the things happening around you." Song Qian had told him as she put on her crystal earrings before the mirror. She'd been trying to boost his image in the eyes of others - as if Yifan wasn't already popular enough in the ranks of the army, with his success in Vietnam and his marriage to Song Qian - all in the hopes of raising his chances at being promoted to Lieutenant General.
It wasn't as though Yifan didn't appreciate her efforts, though. The faster Yifan rose through the ranks, the sooner he'd be spared from being sent to another warzone, and, hopefully, Yifan would be able to escape the ghosts of his memories which would return to haunt him night after night, without adding more terrifying images to the already huge collection in his mind. Yifan did; but he wished Song Qian would look at him and understand his circumstances for once.
Besides, Yifan didn't want to be viewed as the person who gained popularity through his wife's social standing.
He was dragged back to present time when Song Qian suddenly wrapped her arms around his and started leading him towards the main entrance of the hospital, proudly showing her uniform-clad husband off to the rest of the women who were similarly dressed in nurses' outfits, as though they didn't already know who Yifan was. Yifan good-naturedly played along, though, forcing a smile as he greeted the others. It was never a good idea to make Song Qian cross, for her father's wrath would fall upon his head faster than Yifan would be able to snap his fingers. At this point of time, it wasn't a smart move to pull. Yifan knew that much.
"Look at you," Song Qian preened as she fixed Yifan's already-perfect clothes, grinning widely at her trophy husband while the other ladies gushed over how sweet they were. "You're the talk of the town!"
Yifan smiled at her. "It's all thanks to you, Qian."
She definitely did not sense the sarcasm layered deep in his words, for she exclaimed with a proud, "Of course!" before she turned to address the reporters who were all waiting for her with their pens and papers and cameras at the ready. Song Qian had every right to boast, though, seeing as the hospital was built from a fund where her father was a major contributor. Yifan, on the other hand, could only stand stiffly to the side, for a military personnel like him wasn't any good with words. He was rather thankful that Song Qian could cover that aspect very well; at least all he had to do was to make his presence known, and that was it.
Behind his shades, Yifan's eyes wandered around and took in his surroundings. Ignoring the noisy mindless chatter going on, having this many women walking around in white uniforms was actually quite the formidable sight, especially considering the fact that these women wouldn't usually want to be caught dead wearing the same clothing. Yifan could see the variations in alteration of their outfits, though, with some having shorter hems that the rest, and some with plunging necklines which did little to cover their chests. He figured none of them would sacrifice their thirst to outdo the others in terms of being fashionable, even though they were supposedly gathered for a good cause.
Such was the pretentious world they were all living in.
Yifan did a double take, though, when a rare gem stood out amongst the crowd and commandeered his attention with her doe-like eyes, wandering quietly and aimlessly amongst the crowd. Lu Han. In extreme contrast to her bold number during the Officers' Ball, Lu Han's outfit that morning was the most conservative one out of the lot, its sleeves reaching her elbows and the hem of her uniform touching her knees, even though it fitted her body like a glove. Her long hair was done up in a simple bun, with some loose strands tumbling down the sides of her face, but in all the simplicity of her up-do, Yifan still thought Lu Han looked like a goddess.
He hoped that the flush of his cheeks when their eyes met and when she smiled at him could easily pass off as an aftereffect of being under the sun for far too long, even when Yifan knew he had a tanned complexion. Yifan was glad that he was the only one who could feel his heart speed up because of it.
--
It was a good thing Song Qian decided to wrap her little press conference up fast, but soon Yifan found himself being at the centre of attention again when they walked into the hospital and up the stairs to visit the wards. Setting his height aside, it was all too easy to spot him in the middle of a group of giggling women dressed in nurses' outfits, and Yifan will be damned if the situation didn't make him feel remotely awkward. He had to try, countless times, during their walk through the hallways, not to sigh in annoyance whenever their chatter grated on his nerves.
He felt much better when they'd arrived at the wards, though. Yifan was allowed to sit at the counter and watch as the other members of the Officers' Wives Club did their thing, which was really fine by him. At least Song Qian did not force him into joining them, because talking to other military personnel who were suffering from PTSD like him was the last thing Yifan wanted to do. He didn't want to know what sort of ghosts haunted these men's minds, and he didn't want anyone else to know those in his either. Besides, Song Qian hasn't realised that Yifan was receiving treatment for anything at all. There wasn't a point in letting her find out now, or she might have to live the rest of her life in fear, not knowing when her husband would finally lose his mind and murder her in her sleep.
Again, Yifan found his attention captured by none other than Lu Han when he scanned the room. Unlike the rest of the ladies, whose boredom was almost glaringly obvious on their faces with how they were turning away from the patients to roll their eyes at something the men had said, Lu Han was instead listening very attentively to the patient who was seated beside her. The man was probably describing in great detail how he had lost his left arm, and was gesturing wildly while he mentioned about his dreams to Lu Han. Lu Han's expressions were scrunched up in focus, nodding and patting the man on his back every now and then in sympathy.
Yifan chewed on his bottom lip. He wondered if she'd listen to him the way she was doing now, if he ever dared spill his secrets to her. It seemed likely, in contrast to Song Qian who was trying to reason with another man's dreams, telling him that he was being paranoid. Yifan sighed to himself. He knew how it felt to have his nights plagued by nightmare after nightmare, and it wasn't paranoia talking. It was muscle memory, the fear too deep-seated within their minds for them to wipe it off easily. It wasn't an experience that everyone could understand, if they hadn't gone through it themselves. Yifan could only imagine how annoyed the man must be. Song Qian had an upbeat personality, but sometimes, it just didn't work on everyone.
There was a loud shriek moments later, however, the moment Yifan averted his eyes from Song Qian to take in the rest of the room. A loud commotion soon followed, with chairs being toppled over and the metal clashing loudly against the cemented floor, and when Yifan looked next, he was horrified to see that Lu Han was now held captive by the man whom Song Qian had just been speaking to, a Swiss knife pressed to the pulse point over her neck. Song Qian was on the floor, slowly inching away from the suddenly-aggressive man, her features contorted in fear. It didn't take much for Yifan to deduce that something Song Qian had said had agitated the man thoroughly, and Lu Han had caught the man pulling out a weapon just in time to push Song Qian out of the way.
Yifan's senses went into overdrive, acutely aware of everything which was going on around him. Such incidents weren't foreign to him; he'd seen enough of his men turning aggressive out of the blue, driven purely by the fear of death, and he knew exactly how to deal with them. Yifan couldn't make any brash moves, though. Even the slightest mistake could lead to Lu Han getting killed, and it was the single most important thing Yifan wanted to avoid. If the man could kill one person, he'll gain enough courage to go on a rampage and murder the rest of them in the room, too.
So Yifan licked his lips and took a cautious step forward, arms held loosely on either side of him to show the other man that he wasn't armed, that he was open for negotiations. He shot a quick look at the nameplate hung at the edge of the man's bed, and sucked in a deep breath. "Private Jong. Put that knife down, please. Can't we have a nice chat without resorting to hurting someone else?"
"What is there to talk about?" Private Jong yelled, and there was a sort of frenzied look in his eyes which worried Yifan. He was really out of his mind, blinded by rage. "You bunch of high-ranked officers know nothing but the luxuries we can only dream of when we're here, fighting life and limb for the country!" He continued to seethe, his hold around Lu Han tightening even more. "And when we've become cripples, we're discarded to the side and left forgotten for your wives to ridicule our conditions!"
At least, Song Qian and the rest of her clique had the sense to look guilty for what they had been doing. Yifan chewed on his lip, trying to hold back a scathing comment like I told you this was a bad idea. Instead, he composed himself and turned to the group who was almost scared shitless from the confrontation. "Please, ladies, make your leave. I will handle this."
Thankfully, no one but Song Qian really protested against his orders, and they quickly dispersed from the room. His wife decided to stay by his side, however, and cowered behind Yifan. She really wasn't made for situations like these, mighty as her father might be as an army officer.
Yifan couldn't help but take notice of the contrast between Song Qian and Lu Han. Lu Han, despite being in a dangerous spot, was surprisingly calm in her captor's hold. He couldn't even pick out a sense of resignation radiating off her, just an unnatural sense of serenity and calmness. Her gaze was held steadily forward, and Yifan felt a jolt of electricity run through him when their eyes met. There was a sort of firmness in the softness of her gaze, one which told him she had faith in him to get her out of this situation. It made Yifan even more determined to make this work.
"Private Jong, now we have the room all to ourselves. Calm down." Yifan found his voice once again when everyone unnecessary had filed out of the room, leaving only them and several guards behind. He soon realised it was the wrong thing to say, though, when Private Jong merely pressed the Swiss knife harder against the column of Lu Han's pale neck, this time drawing blood. His hand was trembling in pent up fury, one which Yifan desperately needed to dissipate before it was too late.
Behind him, Song Qian mumbled miserably, her fingers digging into the fabric of Yifan's uniform and wrinkling it. "I think I'm going to be sick." It took Yifan a little longer before he recalled that Song Qian couldn't stand anything remotely gory, much less the sight of blood, and he wished she'd joined the rest of her friends out the door instead of feigning bravery and staying behind with him. Yifan felt bad for saying this, but her presence was only going to make matters worse. He couldn't possibly protect two women at the same time, when they were separated by a large distance between them. Things could go horribly awry. Any of them could be killed.
He tried not to focus on the more morbid side of things.
"You don't know how it feels, to be ruled as insane and kept locked up in these four walls." Private Jong seethed, and the hatred was clear in his eyes. "I'm not crazy. No one knows how terrible it is to live through the thick of a war, not knowing if you'll survive it, when you see your comrades dying one after the other in every way possible."
I do, Yifan wanted to say, but his pride stood in the way and made him bite on his tongue. No one needed to know that Yifan, who was always projecting a calm and collected aura on the outside, had such terrible skeletons in his closet.
So instead, Yifan tried in the most pleading voice he could muster. "Then make us understand, Private. If you don't say a thing, then we will never know what exactly you're going through."
It seemed as though it was the right thing to say, because his grip visibly slackened, and his eyes started to water. His voice quivered when he spoke next. "All I wanted was someone who wouldn't judge me for what I'm going through-"
Yifan was no longer listening at this point of time, knowing that Private Jong was thoroughly distracted by his thoughts and his grief. It was the moment of weakness that Yifan required, and he nodded ever so slightly at the other guards who were all waiting for his orders. This was an entirely different war he had to take upon. Before he jumped into action, Yifan shot a look at Lu Han who was still meeting his gaze, hoping that she could understand what he was trying to convey through the silence. She nodded bravely, and it was all Yifan needed to lunge towards the man with all his might, the other guards following suit. Lu Han, on the other hand, elbowed the man as hard as she could to break free, but just as she was about to be gathered safely in Yifan's arms, the Swiss knife caught her right in the shoulder, causing Lu Han to yell out in pain.
It was a good thing that Private Jong was no longer armed at that point of time, and it was easy to subdue him when he was completely outnumbered. Yifan shut his eyes in a silent prayer as he cradled the injured Lu Han in his arms amidst the frantic shouting coming from Private Jong's direction, his broad hand pressed firmly against the wound in her shoulder to stem the flow of blood, thankful that at least she wasn't seriously injured.
He wouldn't be able to live it down if she was.
--
Part II
For: geraldinedragon
Rating: NC-17
Length: ~34.5k
Warnings: (PLEASE TAKE THESE SERIOUSLY!) Infidelity, genderbend, grisly descriptions of murder, physical disabilities, mental illness, mentions of dubcon/noncon, physical and emotional abuse, heavy angst, character death.
Author's Note: Dear geraldinedragon, thank you for providing such lovely prompts for me to choose from, and thank you for giving me an opportunity to study the movie (ahem! Jo Insung's ass is gorgeous) for the sake of writing this fic. I've tried my best to not follow the plotline completely, so I hope you will enjoy the twists I've added to it. I'd like to apologise in advance if this isn't what you're looking for :c
To anyone who might be reading this, please overlook the historical inaccuracies as well as the glaringly obvious problems with regards to their nationalities in this story, hah.
Thank you to C for bouncing ideas with me, without you this might not have been completed at all, hah. And thank you to F, too, for cheering me on!
Summary: (인간중독/Obsessed!AU) Yifan's life changed the moment he came across the Chinese doe-eyed beauty who had just moved in across the road. Both tied in marriage, both with duties to fulfill, but nothing can seem to stop Yifan from falling into a downward spiral with the name of Lu Han - even though it will cost him everything he had been fighting for.
"I propose a toast!" One of the men in the room, who evidently has had too much to drink, considering how flushed his face was at the moment, called out with his beer mug raised in his direction, and he forced a smile to acknowledge it. "To our brave and mighty leader, Colonel Wu Yifan! Without him, we might have died on that battlefield, and we'd be having a jolly gathering in hell instead!"
A chorus of raucous whistling and cheers erupted in the room, and Yifan found himself getting dragged to stand by someone beside him. In any other situation, when his men were more sober, they would not have dared to pull such a bold stunt. But tonight - tonight they were celebrating, and all forms of decorum have gone to hell with their inebriation. Yifan laughed and gave in to their coaxing, pretending as though he had had enough to drink, even though he hadn't even reached the bottom of his first mug of beer.
Grinning widely and shedding his usual uptight demeanour, coupled with a feigned tipsy sway for additional effect, Yifan gestured for them to quiet down for him to speak, thankful that they still had a shred of consciousness in them to follow his orders. "You're flattering me too much. Our victory is not my doing alone." He raised his own glass in a toast. "It is thanks to you, my capable men, that we have achieved victory in Vietnam. This celebration is as much for you as it is for me."
It was all that was needed to get the celebratory party going, though Yifan had to force his liquor down in full view of his subordinates, citing he had to be a part of the celebration, and it wasn't decent if he weren't as smashed as they were.
He was thankful they already had enough alcohol in them at that point of time, though. It didn't take much for them to spiral into a completely drunken state, and they were furiously making out with the escorts they had hired when Yifan looked next, acting as though they were the only ones in the room.
Glancing around surreptitiously to ensure everyone was already too knocked out to care, Yifan exhaled and quickly slipped out of the room, leaving behind his subordinates who were in various states of undress, some already close to the point of being naked. His ears rang as he leaned against the side of the building, taking in deep breaths of the cooling night air when he finally managed to escape outside. The intense throbbing in his head died down to nothing more than a dull ache five minutes later, much to Yifan's gratefulness. At least the silence allowed him to think, Yifan mused as he lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply, feeling the last of his nerves settle as the nicotine took over his senses.
It wasn't long before his guilt began gnawing at him, though, when he thought about his fallen comrades. His batallion might have won the skirmish in Vietnam, but many of his subordinates' lives were sacrificed in the process of achieving their victory. Even when he closed his eyes, he could see the ghosts of his fallen men, losing a limb or two as they crumbled to the ground from a landmine, asking Yifan to move on because their batallion needed their leader to steer them to victory, that one casualty or two from the lower-ranked officers didn't matter.
Yifan swallowed against the invisible lump in his throat at the memory. What sort of leader survived longer than his subordinates in a battlefield? And what sort of leader would indulge in a celebration for their victory, when more than half his men were dead and were buried in shoddy makeshift graves in Vietnam, their bodies doomed to never be seen by their family members ever again?
Yifan glanced back at his rowdy bunch of subordinates who were still drowning themselves in alcohol, and wondered if anyone else dreamt of the same things Yifan did. For tonight, though, Yifan thought his subordinates earned their right to celebrate, while he shouldered the rest of the burden on their behalf. It was only the proper thing to do, as their leader.
--
He dreamt in various shades of red - mostly in the colour of blood.
There was never a night when Yifan would find himself sleeping peacefully, his dreams mostly invaded by his memories of the battlefield, right from the very first man he had killed - with a bullet right through the eye. Each kill of his only grew more grosteque as time passed, when the desperation to keep living pulled him under and turned him into a cold-blooded, merciless killing machine. By the time he'd claimed his last life on the battlefield in Vietnam - by slicing the head clean off the neck of the opposing troop's commander with a machete in an ambush - Yifan didn't even blink when the man's blood had splattered across his face, painting it brilliant red and staining his olfactory senses with a distinct stench of rusted metal.
Yifan remembered how annoyed he'd been from the mess, wiping the blood off with a discarded rag before taking his enemy's head with him, sticking it onto a stake in the middle of the enemy's camp as a warning before he'd left. The enemy troopers who had survived the ambush surrendered on the very next morning, their men's morale much too low for them to fight after the gruesome loss of their commander.
Sometimes, Yifan dreamt about his own men. How some of them had their lower limbs blasted apart when they stepped on a well-hidden landmine, how they had to leave these men behind with only their torso and upper body remaining as they bled to death on the ground, very much conscious and in excruciating pain. Some of them died less tragically, with a bullet through their heart or their neck, severing their main blood vessels and ending them almost immediately. On most times though, it was supposed to be Yifan in their position, had his subordinates not insisted that they went to scout the vicinity before Yifan led them forth.
Yifan always, always ended up dreaming of himself in their shoes. He had died and lived and died again countless times in his mind, to the point that he could no longer pick apart what was real and what was not. Both dreams and reality were equally hellish to him.
That night - about a week after his return from the massacre in Vietnam - Yifan again found himself jolting awake from his sleep, his senses on an overdrive as he dreamt about the ambush. It wasn't until a while later that Yifan came to, and he was horrified when he found himself training his gun at Song Qian's - his wife's - sleeping form.
As quietly as he could in his panicked state, Yifan quickly walked out of the room with his gun in hand, eager to extract himself from Song Qian's immediate vicinity. Vietnam had turned him into a monster, one who would subconsciously hurt even his own wife when his primal instinct to survive kicked in.
Yifan expertly removed the bullet cartridge and dismantled most of the gun to the best of his ability, before chucking the pieces into one of the drawers, slamming it shut so that it was out of his sight and far from his reach.
He didn't want to hurt anyone else but himself with his recent nightmares. He wouldn't be able to live it down.
--
"It's getting worse these days. The dreams."
Junmyeon stopped writing and placed his fountain pen on the tabletop with a soft clatter when Yifan finally spoke up, after having spent the last twenty minutes since he'd stepped into Junmyeon's office sitting in silence. Behind them, the grandfather clock continued to tick, filling the air with a constant, comfortable noise, allowing them ample time to think what should be said next.
"Tell me about them. Are they still the same?" Junmyeon's voice was as neutral as ever, though the small frown he was now wearing betrayed him. Yifan didn't call Junmyeon out on it, though. He was more than thankful he had someone to listen to him - Song Qian would likely end up throwing up in his lap if he ever tried describing everything in detail. Keeping everything to himself couldn't possibly be healthy, either, he knew.
And Yifan was already ill enough.
"Yes, for the most part," Yifan affirmed, swallowing thickly when a slew of images came to mind and sent unpleasant chills down his spine. He fumbled around for his box of cigarettes and lit a stick, feeling himself calm down a little after one inhale. "But I nearly shot Song Qian in my sleep yesterday." And, as an afterthought, "I swear I have been taking my medications on time and in the correct dosage."
Junmyeon's gaze on him when Yifan reopened his eyes was disapproving. It couldn't be the smoke bothering him; Junmyeon had been surrounded by men who smoked like chimneys for the later part of his existence, after all.
"You should kick that habit of yours. It's only going to aggravate your anxiety." Junmyeon jutted his chin in the direction of the cancerous stick currently jammed in between Yifan's lips. Ah, so that was it.
Yifan stubbed out the cigarette at once. Then lit another up. "I can't, Junmyeon. It's the only other way I have to cope with... things."
Junmyeon seemed as though he was about to launch into a lengthy I'm the qualified medical practitioner here discussion with Yifan, then aborted the thought. He probably remembered all the times he had argued with Yifan about it and failed. Yifan was a very stubborn man, after all.
"Fine; I'll increase the dosage of your medications." Junmyeon finally relented, but paused in the middle of giving Yifan his prescription. "This is only a temporary measure, Yifan. Please, come back if you feel you are not getting any better, so that we can think of something else to help you with."
"I will," Yifan promised as he took the prescription slip from Junmyeon, readying himself to leave. Then another thought came to mind. "Will you be joining us at the Officers' Ball this weekend, Junmyeon?" Yifan asked, even though he could already guess the answer. Junmyeon was as asocial as anyone could get. Spending my time with rowdy military personnel is not my cup of tea, he had told Yifan once.
"I'm afraid not, Yifan. Promise me you will stay away from the alcohol, though. You know how it messes up with your drugs."
"Sure," Yifan waved over his shoulder upon getting Junmyeon's response. Junmyeon didn't have to know that alcohol was something else Yifan couldn't really quit.
--
No matter how many times Yifan had taken part in these celebrations, he still wasn't used to the glitz and glamour which surrounded it - found it distasteful, even. Military officers were supposed to live a simple life, seeing as when they were trapped in a war zone, everything boiled down to the bare basics. Unfortunately, the higher they climbed the ranks, the easier it was for them to forget about the hardships they had to endure in the past.
Yifan didn't blame them, though, not when all they seemed to do was to bark orders from where the enemies couldn't even see hide nor hair of them.
He, on the other hand, had just returned from a life of being in constant fear that he could not make it out of that war-damned country alive, the memories accompanying it still vividly imprinted at the back of his eyelids. It was incredibly tasteless, these events, even if it was meant to celebrate another of their troop's wins in Vietnam.
A celebration of success in war was also an indirect celebration of death, what with the amount of lives lost in the process of achieving victory - both the innocent and the not-so-innocent. That was what Yifan believed.
Yifan gulped down the flute of champagne to wash away the acid taste on his tongue, and replaced the empty flute with another. Song Qian, whom Yifan had nearly forgotten was clinging onto his arm, tugged at him lightly at that.
"You might want to slow down with your drinking," she tip-toed to whisper in his ear, lips brushing against its shell. Her perfume was intoxicating, and Yifan found himself successfully distracted from his morbid thoughts.
"As you wish, my dear." He tightened his hold around Song Qian's waist and pulled her closer to him - a show of possession. As distracted as he was, Yifan wasn't oblivious to the way some of the higher-ranked officers were looking at his wife lasciviously. She was in a dress of velvet that evening, the darkness of magenta bringing out the beauty of her eyes and smile. Its design was modest, though it hugged her body in all the right places, accentuating curves which were usually hidden beneath looser sundresses.
Song Qian was gorgeous, Yifan knew, but it didn't give them the right to forget that she was the daughter of their commander-in-chief.
"Colonel Wu, sir-" Someone approached him and Song Qian just then, and he turned around to see someone of his height smiling back at him. Yifan raised an eyebrow, because he wasn't aware of anyone else on the camp who could rival Yifan in terms of height. This was someone new. "-good evening. I apologise for not introducing myself earlier, but I have been busy with the moving and all."
"You are-?" Yifan enquired, smiling politely. He idly noted that this man was his subordinate, from the stars which decorated his shoulder.
"Jung Yunho, sir. I am your new Lieutenant Colonel." The man with a chiseled appearance responded with a respectful bow, as was expected of a lower-ranked officer. "I look forward to working closely with you, sir. I have heard of a lot of great things about you and your heroism in Vietnam. And you too, Mrs Wu."
It took Yifan a while before he recalled that indeed he had been told by Jonghyun he was to expect a new second-in-command joining him soon, seeing as his previous partner had sacrificed himself during the war in order to keep Yifan alive. Yifan swallowed hard at that thought and mustered the most genuine smile he could manage, hoping Yunho didn't notice the strain behind it. The last thing he wanted was for Yunho to misunderstand that his presence was not welcomed, when Yifan was in fact still mourning over the loss of his close friend.
"Ah, yes-" He said as he shook Yunho's hand. "It is nice to finally meet you." Then, glancing around curiously, Yifan found himself asking, "Did you attend the ball alone?" It struck him as odd, because by the time one reached the ranks of a Lieutenant, an army officer was already likely to have been married, having survived enough wars to have a healthy sum of money in their possession to start a family, yet not nearly enough confidence that they'll be able to wait until after the next skirmish to find a partner. There was only so much that a comfort woman could do to satisfy their sexual cravings - they, for one, did not offer a sense of security, some normalcy that an army personnel yearned to go home to, if only to take their minds off the war.
Yunho understood him perfectly, it seemed, for he smiled back in return before craning his neck in search of a person amidst the crowd. "I appreciate your concern, sir, but my wife has just gone to the restroom, and-" He cut himself off just then, smile growing wider as he welcomed someone with open arms. "-ah, speak of the devil. Colonel Wu, let me introduce you to my wife, Lu Han."
At first, Yifan had been expecting to find someone plain-looking - the more beautiful women were usually married to the higher-ranked officers, mostly because of the promise of wealth and comfort in life everyone craved for in these war-torn days - but he was proved very, very wrong when he looked down and found a doe-eyed beauty smiling demurely back at him. At that particular moment, it was almost as though the world around him had stopped moving.
Lu Han was in a beautiful and bold dress of powder blue silk that evening, its sleeves nonexistent and her back bare for everyone to see, sending imaginations going wild, if the sudden increase in attention being thrown in their direction was any indication of it. But Yifan could only stop and admire the elegant slope of her shoulder blades and the flawlessness of her fair skin, nothing more. It wouldn't be appropriate.
But she struck him as a woman who knew of the beauty she possessed, and owned the courage to present it to the world. Her boldness was a rare gem in a society which pretended to be open to change, when it was extremely conservative in reality, and Yifan could already hear the beginnings of vicious gossip coming from the mouths of the other women.
"My, she is lovely." It was Song Qian's exclamation which pulled Yifan back to present time, though Yifan felt relieved to note that his wife wasn't someone who'd get jealous of another's beauty this easily.
"Indeed," Yifan concurred with a nod, pressing a brief, polite kiss to the back of her hand in greeting. The tiny shudder which wracked though Lu Han's body did not go unnoticed. "Rarely does a person aside from Qian command the attention of the entire room the moment she walks in."
Yunho's wife inclined her head in thanks. "You are too kind with your words, Colonel. I am thoroughly flattered." The moment Lu Han's brilliant brown eyes cut up to look at Yifan through her beautiful long lashes, he could feel himself holding his breath, mesmerised. Lu Han was the image of practiced coyness - a right mix of shy and flirtatious, tempting and mysterious - but Yifan knew that there was a little more than that, swimming beneath her careful mask, no matter how well she had taken care to hide it.
Yifan was intrigued.
"Colonel Wu, I mean no offense to your lovely wife, but would you be interested in having Lu Han for a dance?" Yunho asked just then, shocking Yifan out of his trance-like state. It was almost as though Yunho could read his mind.
The worst part was probably the fact that Yifan was tempted to take Yunho up on his offer, but he stopped himself short when he remembered his position, and Song Qian's identity as the commander-in-chief's daughter. Song Qian wasn't a person who'd mind, but still. He didn't need to invite more gossips than was necessary. Instead, Yifan took a nervous sip of his champagne and stepped backwards slightly, showing that he was declining Yunho's suggestion. "Thank you, but I simply must move on to talking to the rest of the officers, lest they think of me as arrogant. Please, do excuse Song Qian and I."
Thankfully, the couple did not appear offended by the rejection. "Of course, sir. My wife and I hope that you will have a pleasant evening." Yunho bowed, and then they were on their way, mingling with the rest of the officers in attendance.
Even then, the distance which separated them did not stop Yifan's gaze from wandering back to Lu Han time and again for the rest of the evening. What bothered him though, was how he seemed to always, always meet Lu Han's gaze at such times.
Yifan failed to realise the beginnings of a small flame from that very moment on, or the dangers of playing with fire.
--
"They absolutely adore you, Yifan. This is great news." Song Qian gushed as her hands kneaded expertly at the sore muscles on his back, the way she knew he liked it. They were relaxing on the bed after cleaning themselves up, and Song Qian was currently straddling Yifan's waist, putting all her weight into her hands as they wrung the tension out of Yifan.
"Really? How could you tell?" Yifan mumbled into the pillow, eyes closed in perfect bliss. Song Qian was older than him in terms of age, and that in itself had invited quite a number of malicious remarks, but Yifan had quashed them by showing that he could be the perfect match for Song Qian with his accomplishments. He honestly could not see what was wrong with it.
The laughter which escaped Song Qian's lips was melodious, almost like a song. "Did you not see how they were all vying for your attention? They were all impressed with your achievements, and at such a young age, too."
Admittedly, Yifan hadn't noticed that at all, not when a certain doe-eyed beauty had been commandeering his attention for the entire evening. Song Qian didn't have to know about that bit, though.
Distracted, he didn't even realise that a simple "what does it matter?" had rolled off his tongue, until the weight which had been atop him suddenly disappeared.
"This is not the time to be joking around, dear." Song Qian's scandalised face appeared next to him on the bed. "It will affect your chances at being promoted to Lieutenant General. Is that not what you have always yearned for?"
"Yes, but-" Yifan started, and instantly realised that it was the wrong thing to say when Song Qian cupped his face and held his gaze, completely concerned about his apparently abnormal behaviour.
"Is there something wrong?" Song Qian asked urgently, her eyes frantically searching his for answers.
Yifan shook his head and held her hands, hoping his gaze was strong enough to reassure her. "I am merely exhausted, is all. You are worrying too much, Qian."
"But-" Song Qian started again, only to be silenced when Yifan surged forward to claim her lips with a kiss. It happened so suddenly that all she could muster was a soft whimper, before she completely melted in his arms.
Out of the corner of his eye, though, Yifan took notice of the calendar hanging on the wall, and noticed the red circle around the day's date. It was no secret that Song Qian yearned greatly to be a mother, and had even asked Junmyeon for advice on getting pregnant - which eventually led her into plotting the dates for when she was supposedly most fertile on the calendar, all for the sake of increasing her chances at conceiving. It was the only time they ever had sex these days.
Yifan gently lowered Song Qian onto the bed, pulling her negligee off in one swift motion, his hands running over the planes of her back as his lips slid down her torso. Song Qian arched into his mouth when he mouthed at the swell of her breast, tongue flicking teasingly at her already-hard nipple. When Song Qian's legs came up to wrap around Yifan's waist and to pull him in, he could feel the dampness of her lace panties, which was already soaked through. Sometimes, Yifan would think that Song Qian was too easily arousable; it didn't take much for him to rile her up, and he wasn't even close to being hard yet.
As usual, Yifan reached into his pants and wrapped his hand around his cock, fisting himself as he continued to mouth at Song Qian's ample breasts. This time, though, Yifan's mind was invaded by a single pervasive thought - of Lu Han looking up at him through her lashes, the way she had done at the Officers' Ball. Yifan stuttered a little, because it was completely unexpected, but he picked himself back up quick enough for Song Qian to not have realised anything at all.
It was difficult, but Yifan managed to keep his mind from wandering, focusing instead on his wife who was moaning wantonly for him by the time he'd gotten himself to full hardness. He raised Song Qian's legs and hooked them over his shoulder as he pushed his length into her, and began thrusting methodically into her, knowing the precise angle he needed to hit her sweet spot. She came with his name on her lips moments later, and the clenching of her walls around his cock had him spilling over, too.
Once they had gotten over their orgasm high, Song Qian immediately crawled under the covers and went to sleep after cleaning herself up, leaving Yifan to his own thoughts in the darkness of the room. No breathtaking kisses to seal the deed, no affectionate cuddling - nothing.
He couldn't even remember the last time he had felt passion towards Song Qian. Perhaps the war had changed him; Yifan couldn't be certain. But after leaving and coming back for the second time now, Yifan knew one thing was for sure - the affection he had once held for Song Qian was a dying flame. He was holding on because he had to, because divorces were unheard of those days, because he had not fulfilled Song Qian's wishes of becoming a mother, owing to the time he had spent being abroad, fighting a war for his country.
Frighteningly, Yifan couldn't fathom just how much longer he could hold on to this glaringly dysfunctional relationship, where one was sacrificing another's happiness for their own.
They were supposed to walk together on this path of life, but Yifan could not stop himself from feeling that they were slowly drifting apart.
--
The room was too silent, even though there were two of them seated on the bed, backs facing each other. Lu Han, who had the mirror on her side, could see the many war scars which littered her husband's back, as well as her front obtained through less than savoury manners, and her own reflection made her sick.
"You did well today, Lu Han. Everyone could not take their eyes off you. Especially Colonel Wu." Yunho was the first to speak up that evening, shattering the almost-deafening silence which had settled in between them. Lu Han was suddenly engulfed with so much self-loathing that she wished he hadn't said anything at all. Maybe then she would have been able to pretend that her life wasn't such a huge joke.
Lu Han knew Yunho was up to something - she could recognise that glint in his eyes when he turned to look at her, his smirk clearly reflected in the mirror. She lowered her head immediately, not wanting that image to be the last thing she had to see before she went to bed. She drew her sleeping robe shut around her, unable to bear the thought of yet another man running his hands across her bare skin. She felt plenty disgusting as it was.
"What do you intend to say, Yunho?" Lu Han snapped coldly, keeping her voice as steady as she could. She wasn't about to give Yunho the satisfaction of knowing that he was destroying her sanity, bit by slow bit.
Yunho's smirk grew wider at her question. "Should you not know better by now, Lu Han?" It isn't the first time you're doing this. Do not feign innocence in my presence."
Lu Han held her head high, preserving what was left of her dignity. "I do not promise success."
"I am not looking for your promises, Lu Han." Yunho seethed this time, probably angry at the thought that she might not give her all. Could he blame her? Lu Han was getting exhausted of this life. "I absolutely cannot accept it if you failed."
With a huff, Yunho flicked the lights off and threw the covers over himself, leaving Lu Han to deal with her own thoughts in the darkness. Lu Han had told herself time and again that she would not bend to his will, nor will she show her weakness to anyone else in this world, but still it did not stop Lu Han from falling asleep with drying tear tracks on her cheeks. She felt completely filthy, even though nothing has happened yet - she didn't think she'd stop feeling that way for the rest of her life.
--
Yifan rolled his eyes for the umpteenth time from behind his shades when the ladies surrounding him giggled again at something which he wasn't bothered to listen in on, almost bored out of his mind. A crumpled cigarette box laid forgotten at the bottom of his uniform's pocket, another box in his hand already half-gone by now. Junmyeon would not be pleased if he ever found out that Yifan had made it through two packs of cigarettes before the clock had even struck twelve-hundred-hours.
As it was, Yifan could already feel the beginnings of a throbbing ache in his head from too much nicotine, but still he inhaled deeply around the stick between his lips, relishing in the way the cancerous smoke filled up his lungs. At least it kept his attention away from the mindless chatter happening around him.
Yifan hadn't wanted to come, preferring to instead stay at home so that he could catch up on his sleep, after having his night terrorised by nightmares - his usual ones of murder and blood and pained screams. Song Qian would have none of that, though, cheerfully insisting that Yifan joined her at the new hospital's officiating ceremony. Song Qian was the president of the Officers' Wives Club, hence her need to flock around these social events.
"It will do a lot of good to raise your image, if your face was shown on the papers. There will be a number of reporters there, you know. At least show them you care about the things happening around you." Song Qian had told him as she put on her crystal earrings before the mirror. She'd been trying to boost his image in the eyes of others - as if Yifan wasn't already popular enough in the ranks of the army, with his success in Vietnam and his marriage to Song Qian - all in the hopes of raising his chances at being promoted to Lieutenant General.
It wasn't as though Yifan didn't appreciate her efforts, though. The faster Yifan rose through the ranks, the sooner he'd be spared from being sent to another warzone, and, hopefully, Yifan would be able to escape the ghosts of his memories which would return to haunt him night after night, without adding more terrifying images to the already huge collection in his mind. Yifan did; but he wished Song Qian would look at him and understand his circumstances for once.
Besides, Yifan didn't want to be viewed as the person who gained popularity through his wife's social standing.
He was dragged back to present time when Song Qian suddenly wrapped her arms around his and started leading him towards the main entrance of the hospital, proudly showing her uniform-clad husband off to the rest of the women who were similarly dressed in nurses' outfits, as though they didn't already know who Yifan was. Yifan good-naturedly played along, though, forcing a smile as he greeted the others. It was never a good idea to make Song Qian cross, for her father's wrath would fall upon his head faster than Yifan would be able to snap his fingers. At this point of time, it wasn't a smart move to pull. Yifan knew that much.
"Look at you," Song Qian preened as she fixed Yifan's already-perfect clothes, grinning widely at her trophy husband while the other ladies gushed over how sweet they were. "You're the talk of the town!"
Yifan smiled at her. "It's all thanks to you, Qian."
She definitely did not sense the sarcasm layered deep in his words, for she exclaimed with a proud, "Of course!" before she turned to address the reporters who were all waiting for her with their pens and papers and cameras at the ready. Song Qian had every right to boast, though, seeing as the hospital was built from a fund where her father was a major contributor. Yifan, on the other hand, could only stand stiffly to the side, for a military personnel like him wasn't any good with words. He was rather thankful that Song Qian could cover that aspect very well; at least all he had to do was to make his presence known, and that was it.
Behind his shades, Yifan's eyes wandered around and took in his surroundings. Ignoring the noisy mindless chatter going on, having this many women walking around in white uniforms was actually quite the formidable sight, especially considering the fact that these women wouldn't usually want to be caught dead wearing the same clothing. Yifan could see the variations in alteration of their outfits, though, with some having shorter hems that the rest, and some with plunging necklines which did little to cover their chests. He figured none of them would sacrifice their thirst to outdo the others in terms of being fashionable, even though they were supposedly gathered for a good cause.
Such was the pretentious world they were all living in.
Yifan did a double take, though, when a rare gem stood out amongst the crowd and commandeered his attention with her doe-like eyes, wandering quietly and aimlessly amongst the crowd. Lu Han. In extreme contrast to her bold number during the Officers' Ball, Lu Han's outfit that morning was the most conservative one out of the lot, its sleeves reaching her elbows and the hem of her uniform touching her knees, even though it fitted her body like a glove. Her long hair was done up in a simple bun, with some loose strands tumbling down the sides of her face, but in all the simplicity of her up-do, Yifan still thought Lu Han looked like a goddess.
He hoped that the flush of his cheeks when their eyes met and when she smiled at him could easily pass off as an aftereffect of being under the sun for far too long, even when Yifan knew he had a tanned complexion. Yifan was glad that he was the only one who could feel his heart speed up because of it.
--
It was a good thing Song Qian decided to wrap her little press conference up fast, but soon Yifan found himself being at the centre of attention again when they walked into the hospital and up the stairs to visit the wards. Setting his height aside, it was all too easy to spot him in the middle of a group of giggling women dressed in nurses' outfits, and Yifan will be damned if the situation didn't make him feel remotely awkward. He had to try, countless times, during their walk through the hallways, not to sigh in annoyance whenever their chatter grated on his nerves.
He felt much better when they'd arrived at the wards, though. Yifan was allowed to sit at the counter and watch as the other members of the Officers' Wives Club did their thing, which was really fine by him. At least Song Qian did not force him into joining them, because talking to other military personnel who were suffering from PTSD like him was the last thing Yifan wanted to do. He didn't want to know what sort of ghosts haunted these men's minds, and he didn't want anyone else to know those in his either. Besides, Song Qian hasn't realised that Yifan was receiving treatment for anything at all. There wasn't a point in letting her find out now, or she might have to live the rest of her life in fear, not knowing when her husband would finally lose his mind and murder her in her sleep.
Again, Yifan found his attention captured by none other than Lu Han when he scanned the room. Unlike the rest of the ladies, whose boredom was almost glaringly obvious on their faces with how they were turning away from the patients to roll their eyes at something the men had said, Lu Han was instead listening very attentively to the patient who was seated beside her. The man was probably describing in great detail how he had lost his left arm, and was gesturing wildly while he mentioned about his dreams to Lu Han. Lu Han's expressions were scrunched up in focus, nodding and patting the man on his back every now and then in sympathy.
Yifan chewed on his bottom lip. He wondered if she'd listen to him the way she was doing now, if he ever dared spill his secrets to her. It seemed likely, in contrast to Song Qian who was trying to reason with another man's dreams, telling him that he was being paranoid. Yifan sighed to himself. He knew how it felt to have his nights plagued by nightmare after nightmare, and it wasn't paranoia talking. It was muscle memory, the fear too deep-seated within their minds for them to wipe it off easily. It wasn't an experience that everyone could understand, if they hadn't gone through it themselves. Yifan could only imagine how annoyed the man must be. Song Qian had an upbeat personality, but sometimes, it just didn't work on everyone.
There was a loud shriek moments later, however, the moment Yifan averted his eyes from Song Qian to take in the rest of the room. A loud commotion soon followed, with chairs being toppled over and the metal clashing loudly against the cemented floor, and when Yifan looked next, he was horrified to see that Lu Han was now held captive by the man whom Song Qian had just been speaking to, a Swiss knife pressed to the pulse point over her neck. Song Qian was on the floor, slowly inching away from the suddenly-aggressive man, her features contorted in fear. It didn't take much for Yifan to deduce that something Song Qian had said had agitated the man thoroughly, and Lu Han had caught the man pulling out a weapon just in time to push Song Qian out of the way.
Yifan's senses went into overdrive, acutely aware of everything which was going on around him. Such incidents weren't foreign to him; he'd seen enough of his men turning aggressive out of the blue, driven purely by the fear of death, and he knew exactly how to deal with them. Yifan couldn't make any brash moves, though. Even the slightest mistake could lead to Lu Han getting killed, and it was the single most important thing Yifan wanted to avoid. If the man could kill one person, he'll gain enough courage to go on a rampage and murder the rest of them in the room, too.
So Yifan licked his lips and took a cautious step forward, arms held loosely on either side of him to show the other man that he wasn't armed, that he was open for negotiations. He shot a quick look at the nameplate hung at the edge of the man's bed, and sucked in a deep breath. "Private Jong. Put that knife down, please. Can't we have a nice chat without resorting to hurting someone else?"
"What is there to talk about?" Private Jong yelled, and there was a sort of frenzied look in his eyes which worried Yifan. He was really out of his mind, blinded by rage. "You bunch of high-ranked officers know nothing but the luxuries we can only dream of when we're here, fighting life and limb for the country!" He continued to seethe, his hold around Lu Han tightening even more. "And when we've become cripples, we're discarded to the side and left forgotten for your wives to ridicule our conditions!"
At least, Song Qian and the rest of her clique had the sense to look guilty for what they had been doing. Yifan chewed on his lip, trying to hold back a scathing comment like I told you this was a bad idea. Instead, he composed himself and turned to the group who was almost scared shitless from the confrontation. "Please, ladies, make your leave. I will handle this."
Thankfully, no one but Song Qian really protested against his orders, and they quickly dispersed from the room. His wife decided to stay by his side, however, and cowered behind Yifan. She really wasn't made for situations like these, mighty as her father might be as an army officer.
Yifan couldn't help but take notice of the contrast between Song Qian and Lu Han. Lu Han, despite being in a dangerous spot, was surprisingly calm in her captor's hold. He couldn't even pick out a sense of resignation radiating off her, just an unnatural sense of serenity and calmness. Her gaze was held steadily forward, and Yifan felt a jolt of electricity run through him when their eyes met. There was a sort of firmness in the softness of her gaze, one which told him she had faith in him to get her out of this situation. It made Yifan even more determined to make this work.
"Private Jong, now we have the room all to ourselves. Calm down." Yifan found his voice once again when everyone unnecessary had filed out of the room, leaving only them and several guards behind. He soon realised it was the wrong thing to say, though, when Private Jong merely pressed the Swiss knife harder against the column of Lu Han's pale neck, this time drawing blood. His hand was trembling in pent up fury, one which Yifan desperately needed to dissipate before it was too late.
Behind him, Song Qian mumbled miserably, her fingers digging into the fabric of Yifan's uniform and wrinkling it. "I think I'm going to be sick." It took Yifan a little longer before he recalled that Song Qian couldn't stand anything remotely gory, much less the sight of blood, and he wished she'd joined the rest of her friends out the door instead of feigning bravery and staying behind with him. Yifan felt bad for saying this, but her presence was only going to make matters worse. He couldn't possibly protect two women at the same time, when they were separated by a large distance between them. Things could go horribly awry. Any of them could be killed.
He tried not to focus on the more morbid side of things.
"You don't know how it feels, to be ruled as insane and kept locked up in these four walls." Private Jong seethed, and the hatred was clear in his eyes. "I'm not crazy. No one knows how terrible it is to live through the thick of a war, not knowing if you'll survive it, when you see your comrades dying one after the other in every way possible."
I do, Yifan wanted to say, but his pride stood in the way and made him bite on his tongue. No one needed to know that Yifan, who was always projecting a calm and collected aura on the outside, had such terrible skeletons in his closet.
So instead, Yifan tried in the most pleading voice he could muster. "Then make us understand, Private. If you don't say a thing, then we will never know what exactly you're going through."
It seemed as though it was the right thing to say, because his grip visibly slackened, and his eyes started to water. His voice quivered when he spoke next. "All I wanted was someone who wouldn't judge me for what I'm going through-"
Yifan was no longer listening at this point of time, knowing that Private Jong was thoroughly distracted by his thoughts and his grief. It was the moment of weakness that Yifan required, and he nodded ever so slightly at the other guards who were all waiting for his orders. This was an entirely different war he had to take upon. Before he jumped into action, Yifan shot a look at Lu Han who was still meeting his gaze, hoping that she could understand what he was trying to convey through the silence. She nodded bravely, and it was all Yifan needed to lunge towards the man with all his might, the other guards following suit. Lu Han, on the other hand, elbowed the man as hard as she could to break free, but just as she was about to be gathered safely in Yifan's arms, the Swiss knife caught her right in the shoulder, causing Lu Han to yell out in pain.
It was a good thing that Private Jong was no longer armed at that point of time, and it was easy to subdue him when he was completely outnumbered. Yifan shut his eyes in a silent prayer as he cradled the injured Lu Han in his arms amidst the frantic shouting coming from Private Jong's direction, his broad hand pressed firmly against the wound in her shoulder to stem the flow of blood, thankful that at least she wasn't seriously injured.
He wouldn't be able to live it down if she was.
--
Part II