dancing in the dark (Sun/Michael, PG-13)
Title: dancing in the dark
Fandom: LOST
Characters: Sun/Michael
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 900
Summary: Sun doesn't believe that girl exists. (fic/art for ozmissage , who requested Lost Ladies at the Luau)
0, dancing in the dark
-
1, she will be loved
Sun didn't mean for this to happen, didn't mean for him to follow her into her garden, concern written in his chocolate brown eyes.
She's past believing she has any innocence left to lose, so she makes the first move. Her muddy hands, once delicate and perfectly manicured, tug at the hem of Michael's orange shirt, stained with sweat. Sun blocks his "Are you okay?" with her mouth, because she just doesn't want to hear it. She's so sick of words, spoken at and around and through her.
The cool ground kisses her shoulders, bare by the time they reach soil, and the leaf of a tomato plant tickles her ear. Michael's calloused hands glide carefully over pale skin, like she's something new, something sacred, never been touched or used or dirtied.
The air catches dry and sharp in her throat, and she flicks her tongue over her chapped lips. The world turns into a blur in her eyes, and she trembles under him.
Michael stops, speaks softly, "Hey." She can't see him through her tears, but she can hear what's beneath the one syllable, we don't have to do this.
"I'm fine," Sun whispers, chest heaving with silent sobs as his nose brushes under her chin, gently kissing her neck like he fears she might shatter.
Later, Michael licks his thumb and wipes the mud from her cheek, and it's so difficult to accept the adoration caught in the corners of his mouth, like she really is the good woman everyone thinks she is.
Difficult, but for now she can pretend, and maybe that's enough.
-
2, destiny rules
He comes back without Jin.
Her husband is at the bottom of the ocean with a bullet in his chest, and Michael dares to face her, alive, dares to tell her that they took his son.
Sun screams, swings her fists at him, and he stands there. She wishes he would stop her, grab her wrists, yell back, because the passive sag of his body against the hatch wall speaks the truth louder than any words.
Jin is dead.
When she's done, when her arms are bruised and her eyes are dry, she falls into him, the two of them shivering against his wet clothes. Her body moves and she lets it, drags her teeth across his lip because he's all that's left. Michael tastes like salt, and fish, and he won't stop talking as she grabs his hands, pressing them to her. "I'm sorry, Sun, I'm so sorry."
Sun cries the whole way through. She cries and Michael cries, and she thinks - how dare he cry.
When they fall silent, she rests on the cold floor, his arm tight about her waist. She's half asleep when he whispers a confession, all the things that they, her husband's killers, want him to do. Sun digs her fingernails into his knuckles, and feels him stiffen against her back. "I'm coming with you."
Michael starts to say her name, but it fades, strangled in a sigh, and she knows he understands, can hear the need for blood in her breath. He has the courtesy not to argue.
Neither of them can pretend she has anything to lose.
-
3, you know she's a little bit dangerous
Michael visits every summer, clockwork, she thinks, like an old broken watch they refuse to bury.
Ji Yeon is too quiet the year round, only breaking her routine to giggle at silly bright-colored books Walt always brings her. Once she tells Sun, too smart, too serious, "If you married Uncle Mike, I could have a brother."
Sun brushes it off without a real answer. She doesn't need it, doesn't need Michael looking at her like that month after month, silent, remorseful as his spoon clinks noisily in the teacup she sets before him.
She can read his thoughts in the tired set of his jaw, the same words as always. You've changed.
"Don't," she commands, because she hasn't. The island, Jin's death, her father, nothing ever put an idea in her head that wasn't there to begin with.
Tea sloshes onto the table as he raises his hands. "I didn't say anything."
Pulling him into her room, Sun can ignore the looks, she can stare at tiny red flowers on silk sheets as he pays homage to the woman he believes she used to be.
"I miss you all the time," Michael grumbles into the warm skin stretched over her ribs, moving in sync with her breathing. She takes her time before answering, slowly counting the the minute he spends kissing her. Together they are steady, like ticking, except for one little stutter as his mouth moves above her heart, eighteen seconds before she speaks.
"When they are dead, Michael," she promises. All of them, anyone who ever took something from her, and if it takes a lifetime she'll gladly pay the price.
"I could help you," he tries, and Sun tangles her perfect hands in his dark curls. For eight years they've been playing this game, a gun in her purse and a gun in his suitcase. The difference, she knows, is that Michael could never pull the trigger.
"Stop pretending you can save me," she says, and she's taught herself not to cry.
Michael hasn't though, and a drop of water splashes onto her cheek. "Stop pretending you can't be saved."
Sun isn't ready for that, but if he believes it, she thinks - maybe it's enough for now.
Fandom: LOST
Characters: Sun/Michael
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 900
Summary: Sun doesn't believe that girl exists. (fic/art for ozmissage , who requested Lost Ladies at the Luau)
0, dancing in the dark
-
1, she will be loved
Sun didn't mean for this to happen, didn't mean for him to follow her into her garden, concern written in his chocolate brown eyes.
She's past believing she has any innocence left to lose, so she makes the first move. Her muddy hands, once delicate and perfectly manicured, tug at the hem of Michael's orange shirt, stained with sweat. Sun blocks his "Are you okay?" with her mouth, because she just doesn't want to hear it. She's so sick of words, spoken at and around and through her.
The cool ground kisses her shoulders, bare by the time they reach soil, and the leaf of a tomato plant tickles her ear. Michael's calloused hands glide carefully over pale skin, like she's something new, something sacred, never been touched or used or dirtied.
The air catches dry and sharp in her throat, and she flicks her tongue over her chapped lips. The world turns into a blur in her eyes, and she trembles under him.
Michael stops, speaks softly, "Hey." She can't see him through her tears, but she can hear what's beneath the one syllable, we don't have to do this.
"I'm fine," Sun whispers, chest heaving with silent sobs as his nose brushes under her chin, gently kissing her neck like he fears she might shatter.
Later, Michael licks his thumb and wipes the mud from her cheek, and it's so difficult to accept the adoration caught in the corners of his mouth, like she really is the good woman everyone thinks she is.
Difficult, but for now she can pretend, and maybe that's enough.
-
2, destiny rules
He comes back without Jin.
Her husband is at the bottom of the ocean with a bullet in his chest, and Michael dares to face her, alive, dares to tell her that they took his son.
Sun screams, swings her fists at him, and he stands there. She wishes he would stop her, grab her wrists, yell back, because the passive sag of his body against the hatch wall speaks the truth louder than any words.
Jin is dead.
When she's done, when her arms are bruised and her eyes are dry, she falls into him, the two of them shivering against his wet clothes. Her body moves and she lets it, drags her teeth across his lip because he's all that's left. Michael tastes like salt, and fish, and he won't stop talking as she grabs his hands, pressing them to her. "I'm sorry, Sun, I'm so sorry."
Sun cries the whole way through. She cries and Michael cries, and she thinks - how dare he cry.
When they fall silent, she rests on the cold floor, his arm tight about her waist. She's half asleep when he whispers a confession, all the things that they, her husband's killers, want him to do. Sun digs her fingernails into his knuckles, and feels him stiffen against her back. "I'm coming with you."
Michael starts to say her name, but it fades, strangled in a sigh, and she knows he understands, can hear the need for blood in her breath. He has the courtesy not to argue.
Neither of them can pretend she has anything to lose.
-
3, you know she's a little bit dangerous
Michael visits every summer, clockwork, she thinks, like an old broken watch they refuse to bury.
Ji Yeon is too quiet the year round, only breaking her routine to giggle at silly bright-colored books Walt always brings her. Once she tells Sun, too smart, too serious, "If you married Uncle Mike, I could have a brother."
Sun brushes it off without a real answer. She doesn't need it, doesn't need Michael looking at her like that month after month, silent, remorseful as his spoon clinks noisily in the teacup she sets before him.
She can read his thoughts in the tired set of his jaw, the same words as always. You've changed.
"Don't," she commands, because she hasn't. The island, Jin's death, her father, nothing ever put an idea in her head that wasn't there to begin with.
Tea sloshes onto the table as he raises his hands. "I didn't say anything."
Pulling him into her room, Sun can ignore the looks, she can stare at tiny red flowers on silk sheets as he pays homage to the woman he believes she used to be.
"I miss you all the time," Michael grumbles into the warm skin stretched over her ribs, moving in sync with her breathing. She takes her time before answering, slowly counting the the minute he spends kissing her. Together they are steady, like ticking, except for one little stutter as his mouth moves above her heart, eighteen seconds before she speaks.
"When they are dead, Michael," she promises. All of them, anyone who ever took something from her, and if it takes a lifetime she'll gladly pay the price.
"I could help you," he tries, and Sun tangles her perfect hands in his dark curls. For eight years they've been playing this game, a gun in her purse and a gun in his suitcase. The difference, she knows, is that Michael could never pull the trigger.
"Stop pretending you can save me," she says, and she's taught herself not to cry.
Michael hasn't though, and a drop of water splashes onto her cheek. "Stop pretending you can't be saved."
Sun isn't ready for that, but if he believes it, she thinks - maybe it's enough for now.