[26] outed | PG | qmi
Outed
Zhou Mi/Kyuhyun | pg | 382w
AU. Kyuhyun leaves work after the day's headlines have broken.
He shakes. "No pictures," he snaps and the crowd parts around him as he pushes forward towards the other side. They follow him with their eyes, with their cameras, poised and ready, desperate for that photo. His warning cannot hold them back and behind him he hears the sound of the shutters, click click click. His scowl deepens, corners of his mouth tightening. They never listen. He wonder why he bothers.
Near the other end of the sea of people, a hand reaches out and grips his elbow, firm and sturdy. It reels him in sharply and he collides with his bodyguard, solid torso against his ribs. His breath is knocked out of him. He has a bodyguard.
No words here, because they wouldn't be heard over the shouted questions anyway. He gets shoved into the backseat of the car uncermeoniously. The door slams. With it, quiet relief.
He tilts his head back against the seat, adrenaline pumping through his veins. He's not calm yet but he's breathing.
"You get used to it," his driver says.
"I hope I never do."
He doesn't want this. He never wanted this. But here it is, in his lap, in the palm of his hand, surrounding him from all sides and pressing in, kindling a claustrophobia he never knew he had. It's certainly new.
"No way around it, you know." His driver would almost sound sympathetic but for the pointed practicality of his words. He's merely stating a fact; Best to resign yourself, he's saying. No way out of this, dating someone as famous as that, not unless you break up, and even then the notoriety will follow you to some extent.
Lurking somewhere under the surface is another fact, an accusation: You chose this.
He knows this. These are consequences.
Drawing a deep breath, he settles into the leather back of the seat. With his exhale, he glances out the tinted windows. Prices to fame.
They roll away slowly, flashes and footsteps following in their wake.
*
Headlines, tomorrow: Scion disowned.
*
By then, he's moved in with Victoria. I need space, he says. To breathe.
Zhou Mi says, soft, Okay.
The air up here is thinner; more oppressive. No one warned him but he's learning for himself. He's figuring it out - how to breathe.
Zhou Mi/Kyuhyun | pg | 382w
AU. Kyuhyun leaves work after the day's headlines have broken.
He shakes. "No pictures," he snaps and the crowd parts around him as he pushes forward towards the other side. They follow him with their eyes, with their cameras, poised and ready, desperate for that photo. His warning cannot hold them back and behind him he hears the sound of the shutters, click click click. His scowl deepens, corners of his mouth tightening. They never listen. He wonder why he bothers.
Near the other end of the sea of people, a hand reaches out and grips his elbow, firm and sturdy. It reels him in sharply and he collides with his bodyguard, solid torso against his ribs. His breath is knocked out of him. He has a bodyguard.
No words here, because they wouldn't be heard over the shouted questions anyway. He gets shoved into the backseat of the car uncermeoniously. The door slams. With it, quiet relief.
He tilts his head back against the seat, adrenaline pumping through his veins. He's not calm yet but he's breathing.
"You get used to it," his driver says.
"I hope I never do."
He doesn't want this. He never wanted this. But here it is, in his lap, in the palm of his hand, surrounding him from all sides and pressing in, kindling a claustrophobia he never knew he had. It's certainly new.
"No way around it, you know." His driver would almost sound sympathetic but for the pointed practicality of his words. He's merely stating a fact; Best to resign yourself, he's saying. No way out of this, dating someone as famous as that, not unless you break up, and even then the notoriety will follow you to some extent.
Lurking somewhere under the surface is another fact, an accusation: You chose this.
He knows this. These are consequences.
Drawing a deep breath, he settles into the leather back of the seat. With his exhale, he glances out the tinted windows. Prices to fame.
They roll away slowly, flashes and footsteps following in their wake.
*
Headlines, tomorrow: Scion disowned.
*
By then, he's moved in with Victoria. I need space, he says. To breathe.
Zhou Mi says, soft, Okay.
The air up here is thinner; more oppressive. No one warned him but he's learning for himself. He's figuring it out - how to breathe.