Fic: All That Glitters (Super Junior, KyuMin)
Title: All That Glitters
Category: Kpop (Super Junior)
Pairing: KyuMin
Rating: PG
Word Count: 2200
Summary: AU, a first meeting in a dreamscape of fantasy, spectacular and frightening. But dreams, like lives, can be short.
At first, the world is a confounding myriad of colors blurring together. Fuzzy outlines swim across his vision and he tries to blink them into focus, but clarity is slow to come. It's like looking through a heavy mist. He catches a flash of bright red that sparkles and fades, and then a glimpse of luminous white, smooth and round like a moon (or a face). A shadow of wispy black makes his head turn, chasing it with his eyes, and he startles at the sudden, feather-light brush against his cheek. He registers sounds, voices, and music in the background: overlapping chatter makes for a dizzying blend, punctuated by sharp laughter and the occasional round of cheering. The song playing beneath it all is generically familiar, like something he's heard ad-nauseam on the radio. Finally, the haze clears, and Kyuhyun recognizes the interior of Lake Hall, one of the more posh buildings on campus reserved for special events (but he's not sure when it acquired Greek columns hugged by ivy or that twinkling chandelier).
He's in a sea of people, all of them lavishly clothed. Girls flock in sequins, silk, and satin, and guys mingle in suits of varying degrees of tidiness (ties loose or lost, ditto jackets, and he's reminded of high school prom, the last formal he went to). No one's prim and proper here, everyone laughing loudly - and probably drunkenly, he realizes. With that thought, a glass of clear liquid is pushed into his hand by a girl wearing a short black dress and a painted gold mask. In fact, everyone has a mask, uniquely decorated with gems, splashes of color, and feathers and ribbons of all lengths. He can't decide if they're elegant or garish. Kyuhyun reaches up and his fingers glide over cool porcelain that he just now notices on his face, its weight heavy and muffling.
He absently moves to set his glass on a nearby table, but he misjudges the distance and it falls, shattering on the marble floor. A small space opens up as people shift around the spill and the glittering shards without comment (the liquid is red now, making a bloodstain). Kyuhyun unties the ribbons holding his mask in place and half-expects the world to melt like a watercolor painting when he pulls it away.
The scenery remains as it is, a mixed jumble of things, and he's left looking down at the plain white mask in his hands.
He's dreaming - the knowledge surfaces in Kyuhyun's mind like a bubble and he can almost hear the pop. Fascinating, he thinks without much attachment. He hears the clatter, but has no idea when or how the mask slipped (maybe he recalls the feeling of ribbons sliding through his fingers like little streams). It lies unbroken among the ruins of the glass. Flecks and spatters of jeweled crimson now adorn the ambiguously smiling face.
His name is called from over the din and he lifts his head gradually, blinking with some unknown sense of discomfort. He relaxes at the sight of a familiar... Well, not a face, since those features are obscured by sculpture. The frozen expression is unembellished in pristine white, lips pulled up in a laughing joker's smile and eye holes squinted in joyous abandon. Shindong's voice floats from beneath the mask and Kyuhyun isn't sure how he hears it so clearly, but he does.
"All that glisters is not gold;
Often have you heard that told.
Many a man his life hath sold.
But my outside to behold.
Gilded tombs do worms enfold."
Shindong bows at the end - a grand, sweeping gesture, and from somewhere a rose is thrown at his feet. He picks it up and Kyuhyun notices his mask has changed: black like obsidian, with torment in its gaping, down-turned mouth.
Kyuhyun struggles to find his voice. "What's-"
A sudden weight bears down on him from behind, a hissed, "Shh!" in his ear. Kyuhyun shushes. He turns his head slightly and is unsurprised to find himself nearly cheek-to-cheek with another mask. This one isn't the fancy bedecked kind, but it is pale and round, with large black eyes and a toothy, skeletal grin. Something about the image strikes him as familiar, but he can't remember where it's from.
"Over there," says the figure - Donghae? (what's this?) - and points. The crowd of people seems to part just a tiny bit, enough to get a clear view across the room. The doors leading out to the patio are wide open, and snow is falling gently outside where it's dark. Kyuhyun shivers, finds that Donghae is no longer leaning on him and nowhere to be found, and that Shindong is also well out of sight (melted back into the sea of faces, drowned, devoured). When he glances back towards the doors he sees the still shot of another anonymous person, haloed in moonlight, mask turned slightly in his direction. A girl hurries past, little more than a blur of bunched red skirt and flying hair, but when she's gone, so is the vision.
Kyuhyun is disappointed for a scant second, then an unknown hand plants firmly on his back and he's pushed headlong into the crowd. For a moment he's lost in a cloud of mingled perfume, cologne, and alcohol (sweet, spicy, stinging). Expressions are both fixated and subtly mutable, always exaggerated, and music pounds loud in his very bones like the heartbeat extending into every vein.
There's a stillness in the swirling mass which catches his eye, that person again, a faraway profile that accentuates the slender curve of mask against skin. Kyuhyun moves towards it, fighting the tide of others, hearing soft fabrics rustle. He's stopped abruptly by fingers clamping around his wrist, giving a sharp, agitated tug.
A shimmering mask, winged at the upper edges, jeweled at the corners of the eyes, does little to conceal the acerbic voice. "You're on the clock. Don't forget."
"Heechul," Kyuhyun identifies, wincing when the grip tightens. A finger is pressed to his lips.
"Shut up," Heechul snaps with frost in his tone. He rises up on his toes, leans in, and Kyuhyun can feel the faintest imprint of cool lips on his cheek. Then Heechul leaves him with a smarting clap on the shoulder, lost again in the blend of people. Kyuhyun stares after him, touching the side of his face, not knowing if he ever saw the mask come off (he wonders if they're really there at all or if they're ghostly, astral projections).
Of his mystery person, there is no sign.
A clear, reverberating chime rings out from a gilded clock hanging above them on the wall. For some reason it has a multitude of spindly hands, scattered across roman numerals that count up to thirteen.
Kyuhyun resumes his search, in vain it seems. Bodies press around him thicker than ever, cloying, and he's directionless in their midst. Surrounded by masks, the grisly and the divine, he weaves on his feet and closes his eyes, tilting his face. When he opens them again, he's looking up at the ceiling. It's painted like the sky and it moves. Boundless blue and gauzy clouds, drifting leisurely, he can feel the shadows as they pass over him so far away. Glancing across the sea of people, he's disappointed to see no trace of cloud-shadows, but when he raises his gaze again the sky is gone. An empty dome is left there instead.
A hint of fresh air cuts through like a blade. Kyuhyun tries to grasp onto it like it's a tangible thing, breathing in like he's been suffocating all this time. He sees the double-doors leading outside, gently pushing his way through the throng, closer and- (a breeze, like ice-laden fingers upon his face) -real fingers sliding between his own to cradle his hand in a loose grip. He's led through the swarm by a boy, the ribbons tying his mask the color of antique ivory (or dry, ancient bone) and set against light brown hair. They reach the outskirts of the crowd and the boy ducks to the side. Kyuhyun doesn't catch even a glimpse of his mask before two hands slip around to cover his eyes.
"Don't look back," says Leeteuk in a breathy, rattling whisper, but clearly heard when all other noise seems to have become a low drone (save for the lonely notes of a distant violin). Kyuhyun feels a light touch on his shoulder from a flesh-and-blood cheek resting there, then it's gone, and the hands pull away to let him see again.
He's finally in front of the twin doors that are flung open and welcoming. A thin layer of white blankets the patio outside and snowflakes drift merrily from the night sky. Kyuhyun uncertainly extends his arm towards the cold, but his fingertips are met with resistance. They come away wet and darkened with paint. The image before him stands frozen. For the first time in this dream, frustration builds, and he lashes out-
And his arm stretches into cold, winter air.
Kyuhyun pulls back as though stung. Cautiously, he examines his hand and sees the snow crystals melt on his skin, his breath puffing in the chill. He looks up and there's the figure again, close enough to touch now, facing him on the other side of the threshold. A boy dressed in white, stepping through, and the lower part of his face which isn't covered by the mask smiling a real smile. The upper part is concealed by carved porcelain with triangle ears and clever black slants for eyes, outlined in scarlet. The sly curve of the bottom edge of the mask implies a wide, curling smirk.
Kyuhyun opens his mouth to speak, to question, but he has no voice. This alarms him more than anything else so far and he raises a hand to his mute throat. The boy plucks at Kyuhyun's sleeve, slides fingers over the inside of his wrist and tugs the hand away. He rubs comforting little circles in Kyuhyun's palm and his touch is warm, solid, and sure. The mask tilts up and somehow expresses concern.
He acknowledges that some part of this should be awkward, never mind everything else that should be, but it isn't awkward; it's the easiest thing in the world to bend slightly and kiss those smiling lips. The contact is chaste, not quite shy, maybe a little teasing. There's a quiet huff of breath carrying a hint of laughter. Kyuhyun grips the boy's shoulders and angles his mouth more firmly over his, holding him caught and willing.
At some point, his eyes close. At some point, fingers stroke the back of his neck. At some point, a tongue flicks across his upper lip.
The kiss breaks, and the boy's face nuzzles into the curve between neck and shoulder. As usual, Kyuhyun doesn't feel the unyielding ceramic, only warm skin - the bump of his nose, the softness of his cheek, the press of his lips. Kyuhyun can still see the ties of the mask though, crimson woven cords that trail partway down his back.
His gaze travels to the doors-that-are-a-painting-but-isn't, breath stuttering when he sees them both captured in the picture outside, reflected, standing in the snow. The boy in the mirror image wears no mask, face turned to look over his shoulder to reveal a slice of a grin and an amused, dark eye. The view is interrupted by a swish of silvery white. Tails, nine of them fanned out, and Kyuhyun shivers at the brush of luxurious fur flirting over the back of his hand.
A piercing ring sounds from the clock. Its hands are still splayed in every direction, but it chimes again and again. With each note, the world trembles. Three times, four times... Crystal and glass jingle, then crack, spilling liquid all over the floor as each shudder becomes more violent than the last. No one else seems to notice. Even Kyuhyun can only dredge up an abstract, fascinated horror as a girl dances barefoot over a mess of broken glass, leaving bloody footprints in her wake.
Seven... Eight...
A sudden flood washes over his feet, stains of black and blue color from where the dark, snowy painting flows off the wall. He and the boy continue to hold tightly to one another and he's distracted for a pause by teeth nibbling on his neck. Kyuhyun buries a hand in the other's hair, breathing in some kind of sweet scent...
Ten...
The crack overhead sounds like a scream. When he looks up, the ceiling sky has split down the middle, opening into a dark chasm that Kyuhyun feels like he can fall into, gravity or no. Maybe the arms around him are all that prevents that.
Twelve...
He doesn't know if the clock strikes the thirteenth note (unlucky, the odd one out) because the whole mechanism is shaken off the wall. It falls in slow motion, gilded edges flashing magnificently, and during its descent there is an overwhelming silence that disturbs Kyuhyun enough for him to gather his voice:
"Stop-"
Then there's nothing but screeching and splintering and crash, crash, crash.
(...hands on either side of his face, a kiss over his forehead...)
He wakes up.
end
If you're looking for coherency, this ain't it. Actually, though, this was supposed to be the first in a miniseries, but I currently have my hands full with other things. There may or may not be a follow-up.
EDIT: Now with meta.
Category: Kpop (Super Junior)
Pairing: KyuMin
Rating: PG
Word Count: 2200
Summary: AU, a first meeting in a dreamscape of fantasy, spectacular and frightening. But dreams, like lives, can be short.
At first, the world is a confounding myriad of colors blurring together. Fuzzy outlines swim across his vision and he tries to blink them into focus, but clarity is slow to come. It's like looking through a heavy mist. He catches a flash of bright red that sparkles and fades, and then a glimpse of luminous white, smooth and round like a moon (or a face). A shadow of wispy black makes his head turn, chasing it with his eyes, and he startles at the sudden, feather-light brush against his cheek. He registers sounds, voices, and music in the background: overlapping chatter makes for a dizzying blend, punctuated by sharp laughter and the occasional round of cheering. The song playing beneath it all is generically familiar, like something he's heard ad-nauseam on the radio. Finally, the haze clears, and Kyuhyun recognizes the interior of Lake Hall, one of the more posh buildings on campus reserved for special events (but he's not sure when it acquired Greek columns hugged by ivy or that twinkling chandelier).
He's in a sea of people, all of them lavishly clothed. Girls flock in sequins, silk, and satin, and guys mingle in suits of varying degrees of tidiness (ties loose or lost, ditto jackets, and he's reminded of high school prom, the last formal he went to). No one's prim and proper here, everyone laughing loudly - and probably drunkenly, he realizes. With that thought, a glass of clear liquid is pushed into his hand by a girl wearing a short black dress and a painted gold mask. In fact, everyone has a mask, uniquely decorated with gems, splashes of color, and feathers and ribbons of all lengths. He can't decide if they're elegant or garish. Kyuhyun reaches up and his fingers glide over cool porcelain that he just now notices on his face, its weight heavy and muffling.
He absently moves to set his glass on a nearby table, but he misjudges the distance and it falls, shattering on the marble floor. A small space opens up as people shift around the spill and the glittering shards without comment (the liquid is red now, making a bloodstain). Kyuhyun unties the ribbons holding his mask in place and half-expects the world to melt like a watercolor painting when he pulls it away.
The scenery remains as it is, a mixed jumble of things, and he's left looking down at the plain white mask in his hands.
He's dreaming - the knowledge surfaces in Kyuhyun's mind like a bubble and he can almost hear the pop. Fascinating, he thinks without much attachment. He hears the clatter, but has no idea when or how the mask slipped (maybe he recalls the feeling of ribbons sliding through his fingers like little streams). It lies unbroken among the ruins of the glass. Flecks and spatters of jeweled crimson now adorn the ambiguously smiling face.
His name is called from over the din and he lifts his head gradually, blinking with some unknown sense of discomfort. He relaxes at the sight of a familiar... Well, not a face, since those features are obscured by sculpture. The frozen expression is unembellished in pristine white, lips pulled up in a laughing joker's smile and eye holes squinted in joyous abandon. Shindong's voice floats from beneath the mask and Kyuhyun isn't sure how he hears it so clearly, but he does.
"All that glisters is not gold;
Often have you heard that told.
Many a man his life hath sold.
But my outside to behold.
Gilded tombs do worms enfold."
Shindong bows at the end - a grand, sweeping gesture, and from somewhere a rose is thrown at his feet. He picks it up and Kyuhyun notices his mask has changed: black like obsidian, with torment in its gaping, down-turned mouth.
Kyuhyun struggles to find his voice. "What's-"
A sudden weight bears down on him from behind, a hissed, "Shh!" in his ear. Kyuhyun shushes. He turns his head slightly and is unsurprised to find himself nearly cheek-to-cheek with another mask. This one isn't the fancy bedecked kind, but it is pale and round, with large black eyes and a toothy, skeletal grin. Something about the image strikes him as familiar, but he can't remember where it's from.
"Over there," says the figure - Donghae? (what's this?) - and points. The crowd of people seems to part just a tiny bit, enough to get a clear view across the room. The doors leading out to the patio are wide open, and snow is falling gently outside where it's dark. Kyuhyun shivers, finds that Donghae is no longer leaning on him and nowhere to be found, and that Shindong is also well out of sight (melted back into the sea of faces, drowned, devoured). When he glances back towards the doors he sees the still shot of another anonymous person, haloed in moonlight, mask turned slightly in his direction. A girl hurries past, little more than a blur of bunched red skirt and flying hair, but when she's gone, so is the vision.
Kyuhyun is disappointed for a scant second, then an unknown hand plants firmly on his back and he's pushed headlong into the crowd. For a moment he's lost in a cloud of mingled perfume, cologne, and alcohol (sweet, spicy, stinging). Expressions are both fixated and subtly mutable, always exaggerated, and music pounds loud in his very bones like the heartbeat extending into every vein.
There's a stillness in the swirling mass which catches his eye, that person again, a faraway profile that accentuates the slender curve of mask against skin. Kyuhyun moves towards it, fighting the tide of others, hearing soft fabrics rustle. He's stopped abruptly by fingers clamping around his wrist, giving a sharp, agitated tug.
A shimmering mask, winged at the upper edges, jeweled at the corners of the eyes, does little to conceal the acerbic voice. "You're on the clock. Don't forget."
"Heechul," Kyuhyun identifies, wincing when the grip tightens. A finger is pressed to his lips.
"Shut up," Heechul snaps with frost in his tone. He rises up on his toes, leans in, and Kyuhyun can feel the faintest imprint of cool lips on his cheek. Then Heechul leaves him with a smarting clap on the shoulder, lost again in the blend of people. Kyuhyun stares after him, touching the side of his face, not knowing if he ever saw the mask come off (he wonders if they're really there at all or if they're ghostly, astral projections).
Of his mystery person, there is no sign.
A clear, reverberating chime rings out from a gilded clock hanging above them on the wall. For some reason it has a multitude of spindly hands, scattered across roman numerals that count up to thirteen.
Kyuhyun resumes his search, in vain it seems. Bodies press around him thicker than ever, cloying, and he's directionless in their midst. Surrounded by masks, the grisly and the divine, he weaves on his feet and closes his eyes, tilting his face. When he opens them again, he's looking up at the ceiling. It's painted like the sky and it moves. Boundless blue and gauzy clouds, drifting leisurely, he can feel the shadows as they pass over him so far away. Glancing across the sea of people, he's disappointed to see no trace of cloud-shadows, but when he raises his gaze again the sky is gone. An empty dome is left there instead.
A hint of fresh air cuts through like a blade. Kyuhyun tries to grasp onto it like it's a tangible thing, breathing in like he's been suffocating all this time. He sees the double-doors leading outside, gently pushing his way through the throng, closer and- (a breeze, like ice-laden fingers upon his face) -real fingers sliding between his own to cradle his hand in a loose grip. He's led through the swarm by a boy, the ribbons tying his mask the color of antique ivory (or dry, ancient bone) and set against light brown hair. They reach the outskirts of the crowd and the boy ducks to the side. Kyuhyun doesn't catch even a glimpse of his mask before two hands slip around to cover his eyes.
"Don't look back," says Leeteuk in a breathy, rattling whisper, but clearly heard when all other noise seems to have become a low drone (save for the lonely notes of a distant violin). Kyuhyun feels a light touch on his shoulder from a flesh-and-blood cheek resting there, then it's gone, and the hands pull away to let him see again.
He's finally in front of the twin doors that are flung open and welcoming. A thin layer of white blankets the patio outside and snowflakes drift merrily from the night sky. Kyuhyun uncertainly extends his arm towards the cold, but his fingertips are met with resistance. They come away wet and darkened with paint. The image before him stands frozen. For the first time in this dream, frustration builds, and he lashes out-
And his arm stretches into cold, winter air.
Kyuhyun pulls back as though stung. Cautiously, he examines his hand and sees the snow crystals melt on his skin, his breath puffing in the chill. He looks up and there's the figure again, close enough to touch now, facing him on the other side of the threshold. A boy dressed in white, stepping through, and the lower part of his face which isn't covered by the mask smiling a real smile. The upper part is concealed by carved porcelain with triangle ears and clever black slants for eyes, outlined in scarlet. The sly curve of the bottom edge of the mask implies a wide, curling smirk.
Kyuhyun opens his mouth to speak, to question, but he has no voice. This alarms him more than anything else so far and he raises a hand to his mute throat. The boy plucks at Kyuhyun's sleeve, slides fingers over the inside of his wrist and tugs the hand away. He rubs comforting little circles in Kyuhyun's palm and his touch is warm, solid, and sure. The mask tilts up and somehow expresses concern.
He acknowledges that some part of this should be awkward, never mind everything else that should be, but it isn't awkward; it's the easiest thing in the world to bend slightly and kiss those smiling lips. The contact is chaste, not quite shy, maybe a little teasing. There's a quiet huff of breath carrying a hint of laughter. Kyuhyun grips the boy's shoulders and angles his mouth more firmly over his, holding him caught and willing.
At some point, his eyes close. At some point, fingers stroke the back of his neck. At some point, a tongue flicks across his upper lip.
The kiss breaks, and the boy's face nuzzles into the curve between neck and shoulder. As usual, Kyuhyun doesn't feel the unyielding ceramic, only warm skin - the bump of his nose, the softness of his cheek, the press of his lips. Kyuhyun can still see the ties of the mask though, crimson woven cords that trail partway down his back.
His gaze travels to the doors-that-are-a-painting-but-isn't, breath stuttering when he sees them both captured in the picture outside, reflected, standing in the snow. The boy in the mirror image wears no mask, face turned to look over his shoulder to reveal a slice of a grin and an amused, dark eye. The view is interrupted by a swish of silvery white. Tails, nine of them fanned out, and Kyuhyun shivers at the brush of luxurious fur flirting over the back of his hand.
A piercing ring sounds from the clock. Its hands are still splayed in every direction, but it chimes again and again. With each note, the world trembles. Three times, four times... Crystal and glass jingle, then crack, spilling liquid all over the floor as each shudder becomes more violent than the last. No one else seems to notice. Even Kyuhyun can only dredge up an abstract, fascinated horror as a girl dances barefoot over a mess of broken glass, leaving bloody footprints in her wake.
Seven... Eight...
A sudden flood washes over his feet, stains of black and blue color from where the dark, snowy painting flows off the wall. He and the boy continue to hold tightly to one another and he's distracted for a pause by teeth nibbling on his neck. Kyuhyun buries a hand in the other's hair, breathing in some kind of sweet scent...
Ten...
The crack overhead sounds like a scream. When he looks up, the ceiling sky has split down the middle, opening into a dark chasm that Kyuhyun feels like he can fall into, gravity or no. Maybe the arms around him are all that prevents that.
Twelve...
He doesn't know if the clock strikes the thirteenth note (unlucky, the odd one out) because the whole mechanism is shaken off the wall. It falls in slow motion, gilded edges flashing magnificently, and during its descent there is an overwhelming silence that disturbs Kyuhyun enough for him to gather his voice:
"Stop-"
Then there's nothing but screeching and splintering and crash, crash, crash.
(...hands on either side of his face, a kiss over his forehead...)
He wakes up.
end
If you're looking for coherency, this ain't it. Actually, though, this was supposed to be the first in a miniseries, but I currently have my hands full with other things. There may or may not be a follow-up.
EDIT: Now with meta.