like crushed sand {kangin/shindong}
Title: Like Crushed Sand
Fandoms: Super Junior
Pairings: KangShin
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: mentions of wars and alcoholism
Genre: Superhero!AU
A/N: 2/14 of the Kangin challenge at miracle - Kangin/Shindong + Reunite
Summary: Kangin shows up, back from the war, and with fed thoughts.
“Get out, scram! You’re not allowed in these kinds of places-your kind ruins the very soil that I stand upon!” Shindong rubbed the blood from the corner of his lip, looking up menacingly at the rude guard that thought that he could just kick him out like that just because he looked to be a mutant. He was tempted to scream something-“how can you know, you’re not a professional!”-but then, a real professional might come, and figure out the truth.
The wooden side-door to the temple closed, and Shindong stayed there, on the cobblestoned ground, for a few more minutes, gathering himself and his breath. All he wanted to do right now was explode, release all the inner heat that pulsed through his veins like adrenaline. He slowly stood up, dusting off his pants and checking his arms and legs for any more cuts and bruises. There seemed to be a pretty bad cut on his leg, and of course the cut on his face had opened up again, running down his face like a steady stream.
“So, I heard that you were in these parts,” a voice calls and Shindong smirks-he doesn’t have to turn around to know exactly who it is. He rubs his face, rolling his head on his neck to get out any cracks, a smirk pulling at his lips, before he turns on his heel. He has his hands in his pockets when he looks up from his leather shoes to look at the man in question.
Kim fucking Kangin.
If there was one person that screamed mutant, it was Kangin. With his rippling muscles that popped out of his shirt, ripping the very fabric, the line of muscles running down his arms. His wrists were big, if that was possible, and with all the shoulder strength he had, it was obvious that those hands could certainly pack a punch. Just one look and it would be known-Kangin was a mutant, one with super strength most presumably.
But Shindong could pride himself by saying that apart from Kangin himself, he was the only person that truly knew Kangin’s true power, the one that the scientists had dug up from underneath back when he was just a teenager, when they had tried to harness his super strength, unknowing of the true power that lurked under the thick layers of skin and muscle.
Kangin returned the smile and showed off a bit of that power, a small pebble from the cracks of the cobblestone flying up into the air and resting softly into his palm, like a baby bird searching for food. He closed his fist suddenly, almost making Shindong jump, and when Kangin spread his fingers wide, he could see the remains of the pebble sink between his fingers, back into the stone.
“I thought that you were at Base-82,” Shindong says, leaning against the wall that kept the temple away from the rest of the city and crossing his arms nonchalantly. Two years-had it been two years?-when Kangin had been called to military service, they had figured out that he was a mutant-they were easier to find now, with the professionals popping out of anywhere just because they had seen a movie and read a few books-he had been locked in Base-82, a special camp where they just rotted away.
Kangin shrugged, “My service is over, they let me free.”
“I have to wonder what kind of services they would want from an ape like you, Kangin-sshi. Were you testing out their alcohol?”
Kangin’s eyes harden instantly. In a blink of an eye, he appears right next to Shindong, fisting some of his shirt and pushing him up against the wall. “For some of the stuff that I had seen in the mutant war-you’d like another pint to drink.” Shindong is tempted to roll his eyes, but the general position that they’re both in is rather uncomfortable so he just stays there, letting his arms swing lifelessly like forgotten swing sets.
The mutant war-when, ten years later, the mutants of the world had risen up against the governments in an attempt to get their independence and their rights that had been forgotten for the past half-century. Unfortunately, the mutant war was destroyed when a certain angel Park Jungsu, son of the Korean President at the time, soared up into the heavens and released all of his unlimited power, killing half of the Korean population and leaving many with toxins that would result in many more mutants.
Destroyed by the idea of his son’s death, the Korean president killed himself, and the new title was given to a tyrant of a man, who believed that the reason for all their turmoil and poverty was the mutants, and started a rampage that killed many of the mutants. Slowly, South Korea grew back, and with a new president, one that was more open-minded to the idea of mutants, everything was slowly getting better.
But there was still prejudice, of course.
“I don’t understand why you can’t let it go,” Shindong mumbled, locking eyes with Kangin as they stood there in the street. He’s almost tempted to toast his hand, set it to fire with the flames that are locked in his heart, and he knows that Kangin knows that he can do this, too, but something’s keeping him from doing so. For now.
“Because they’re always be something that keeps me from forgetting,” Kangin replies, the grip on Shindong’s shirt loosening, so that the pyro can finally breath again, afraid to move to close to Kangin in fear of what the veteran might do.
“You should destroy that thing.” Kangin sighs and shakes his head.
“I can’t, even with all the power in the world, I can’t.”
“Why not?” Shindong mumbles sub-consciously.
“Because I love it too much for me to break it. Every morning during the military service I prayed that it would be over soon so that I could return, even if I knew that the inner turmoil would make me want to destroy it even more, the feelings tenfold if I ever found it again. And I knew that when I returned, it would leave me soon too. But I love it too much for it to break-the wilted flowers wouldn’t be enough for the love and compassion I feel…” Kangin stopped to think, enough time for Shindong to grab his hand and smile.
“Come on hyung, let’s go get a drink, and then we’ll talk about inner turmoil when we’re drunk,” Shindong said, sending a small flame in between their palms, a warm, soothing heat compared to the cool outside around them.
--
a/n: beta later 'cause it's ten and still a school night
a/n2: i have to write at least 4k to get this challenge finished in time. for tomorrow. fuck.
Fandoms: Super Junior
Pairings: KangShin
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: mentions of wars and alcoholism
Genre: Superhero!AU
A/N: 2/14 of the Kangin challenge at miracle - Kangin/Shindong + Reunite
Summary: Kangin shows up, back from the war, and with fed thoughts.
“Get out, scram! You’re not allowed in these kinds of places-your kind ruins the very soil that I stand upon!” Shindong rubbed the blood from the corner of his lip, looking up menacingly at the rude guard that thought that he could just kick him out like that just because he looked to be a mutant. He was tempted to scream something-“how can you know, you’re not a professional!”-but then, a real professional might come, and figure out the truth.
The wooden side-door to the temple closed, and Shindong stayed there, on the cobblestoned ground, for a few more minutes, gathering himself and his breath. All he wanted to do right now was explode, release all the inner heat that pulsed through his veins like adrenaline. He slowly stood up, dusting off his pants and checking his arms and legs for any more cuts and bruises. There seemed to be a pretty bad cut on his leg, and of course the cut on his face had opened up again, running down his face like a steady stream.
“So, I heard that you were in these parts,” a voice calls and Shindong smirks-he doesn’t have to turn around to know exactly who it is. He rubs his face, rolling his head on his neck to get out any cracks, a smirk pulling at his lips, before he turns on his heel. He has his hands in his pockets when he looks up from his leather shoes to look at the man in question.
Kim fucking Kangin.
If there was one person that screamed mutant, it was Kangin. With his rippling muscles that popped out of his shirt, ripping the very fabric, the line of muscles running down his arms. His wrists were big, if that was possible, and with all the shoulder strength he had, it was obvious that those hands could certainly pack a punch. Just one look and it would be known-Kangin was a mutant, one with super strength most presumably.
But Shindong could pride himself by saying that apart from Kangin himself, he was the only person that truly knew Kangin’s true power, the one that the scientists had dug up from underneath back when he was just a teenager, when they had tried to harness his super strength, unknowing of the true power that lurked under the thick layers of skin and muscle.
Kangin returned the smile and showed off a bit of that power, a small pebble from the cracks of the cobblestone flying up into the air and resting softly into his palm, like a baby bird searching for food. He closed his fist suddenly, almost making Shindong jump, and when Kangin spread his fingers wide, he could see the remains of the pebble sink between his fingers, back into the stone.
“I thought that you were at Base-82,” Shindong says, leaning against the wall that kept the temple away from the rest of the city and crossing his arms nonchalantly. Two years-had it been two years?-when Kangin had been called to military service, they had figured out that he was a mutant-they were easier to find now, with the professionals popping out of anywhere just because they had seen a movie and read a few books-he had been locked in Base-82, a special camp where they just rotted away.
Kangin shrugged, “My service is over, they let me free.”
“I have to wonder what kind of services they would want from an ape like you, Kangin-sshi. Were you testing out their alcohol?”
Kangin’s eyes harden instantly. In a blink of an eye, he appears right next to Shindong, fisting some of his shirt and pushing him up against the wall. “For some of the stuff that I had seen in the mutant war-you’d like another pint to drink.” Shindong is tempted to roll his eyes, but the general position that they’re both in is rather uncomfortable so he just stays there, letting his arms swing lifelessly like forgotten swing sets.
The mutant war-when, ten years later, the mutants of the world had risen up against the governments in an attempt to get their independence and their rights that had been forgotten for the past half-century. Unfortunately, the mutant war was destroyed when a certain angel Park Jungsu, son of the Korean President at the time, soared up into the heavens and released all of his unlimited power, killing half of the Korean population and leaving many with toxins that would result in many more mutants.
Destroyed by the idea of his son’s death, the Korean president killed himself, and the new title was given to a tyrant of a man, who believed that the reason for all their turmoil and poverty was the mutants, and started a rampage that killed many of the mutants. Slowly, South Korea grew back, and with a new president, one that was more open-minded to the idea of mutants, everything was slowly getting better.
But there was still prejudice, of course.
“I don’t understand why you can’t let it go,” Shindong mumbled, locking eyes with Kangin as they stood there in the street. He’s almost tempted to toast his hand, set it to fire with the flames that are locked in his heart, and he knows that Kangin knows that he can do this, too, but something’s keeping him from doing so. For now.
“Because they’re always be something that keeps me from forgetting,” Kangin replies, the grip on Shindong’s shirt loosening, so that the pyro can finally breath again, afraid to move to close to Kangin in fear of what the veteran might do.
“You should destroy that thing.” Kangin sighs and shakes his head.
“I can’t, even with all the power in the world, I can’t.”
“Why not?” Shindong mumbles sub-consciously.
“Because I love it too much for me to break it. Every morning during the military service I prayed that it would be over soon so that I could return, even if I knew that the inner turmoil would make me want to destroy it even more, the feelings tenfold if I ever found it again. And I knew that when I returned, it would leave me soon too. But I love it too much for it to break-the wilted flowers wouldn’t be enough for the love and compassion I feel…” Kangin stopped to think, enough time for Shindong to grab his hand and smile.
“Come on hyung, let’s go get a drink, and then we’ll talk about inner turmoil when we’re drunk,” Shindong said, sending a small flame in between their palms, a warm, soothing heat compared to the cool outside around them.
--
a/n: beta later 'cause it's ten and still a school night
a/n2: i have to write at least 4k to get this challenge finished in time. for tomorrow. fuck.