Believe, Chapter 4
Title: Believe 4/?
Pairing: JaeMin
Rating: R
Genre: fantasy/romance/a wee bit of angst.
Length: chaptered
For: anihimesama
Summary: Jaejoong's just working a job, clearing a forest for a new city to be built. But what he finds is more than just the tranquility of nature; what happens when he's pulled into a world that he's been helping destroy? If it sounds sort of like Fern Gully.....it's sort of because that's where I got the idea :)
This is a kiss Jaejoong could sink into, forgetting his mind, his body, even, as Changmin's lips brushed over his own, beckoning for something pale and thin inside Jaejoong, a piece of himself he'd been hiding, never allowing to see the light of day. Changmin steals his breath and shuts down everything but the need to be closer. And then, when he feels like he feels like he must be glowing, like a star's burst within him and it's all he can do to keep from exploding with the force, Jaejoong finds he has too much air. It's cold, empty against his wet, kiss-swollen mouth. When he opens his eyes, Changmin is backing away, eyes more white than dark, shaking his head in disbelief.
“No.” He speaks to himself, to the part of himself that cracks open to inject the bile of doubt and shame into blood, curling around the spine to clench shoulders and stiffen muscles. “No. This is insane.” His wings twitch hard, a short flap that emphasizes the walls erected behind his gaze, a reinforced metal bent on keeping everything out, a fortress of cold steel. And like that, he's gone, leaving Jaejoong alone with a plate of cooling food.
And as much as Jaejoong would love to leave it uneaten, to be a child and starve himself, show them, whatever they are, that he needs none of their hospitality and would rather do without. But the acid that churns in his stomach says different, argues for him to extinguish the tremoring flicker of pride he still carries in favor of regaining some strength, feeling a bit more like himself. So shock-numbed hands reach for the sort of plate that remains on the ground, a woven disk filled with mixed vegetables, none of which he knows, and a large hunk of bread. It's sweet, nutty, and each bite ushers some solidity back into his body, a feeling almost like being whole.
Fool, he thinks, gnashing his teeth through helpless greens, swallowing a large bite audibly, biting at his lip where there's still a phantom warmth. You kissed him. You kissed something that tortured you. Do you have any self respect? But there's conflict in his thoughts, a push pull of actions and emotions, the look in Changmin's eyes just before Jaejoong had leaned in to kiss him, the slick shine of vulnerability that he'd seen and shown himself. It's too much to pore over, too much to keep inside and sort. He can't stay still, can't remain here. The cot-like bed is easy enough to climb off of, though he's unsteady on his feet for a moment before the one-two rhythm of walking emerges from muscle memory, guiding his bare feet to the flap of the almost-teepee.
Bare feet. They've taken his shoes. What, to keep him from escaping? Shackles without shackles. He just rolls his eyes, pushes through the makeshift door and takes in the thick-spiced night air. It's heavy with the fragrance of unfamiliar flora, the perfume of flowers that look like they belong in the amazon, all lush leaves and colors that fight for attention even with the draping of night's dark blanket. He starts off without rhyme or reason, directionless, just moving forward. Though he knows he can't escape, the need for space is an itch that must be scratched. He needs to be by himself, to collect the thoughts and jittery nerves that bound up and down his spine like kids playing tag, light footfalls sparks of paranoia and anxiety that zipline around organs and muscles, settling in his stomach. He's all instinct now, one thought moving one body, humming the tune of go go go, a single impulse giving him strength to keep moving forward.
He likes the dark, the starshine of light too far away to reach his face, to reveal the expressions he can feel freely under the cover of night. But even now he's locked in a dead stare, lips thin and pulled down, eyes wide but unseeing as they pass over his surroundings, only vaguely making sure to pay enough attention to keep him from running into things. He feels like he's walking through thick fog, mist bent on keeping him wandering, never able to clearly see his path, to truly know where he's going.
Do you ever know where you're going? A quiet voice asks him, a voice that sounds like his own, though it's too soft, too gentle, lacking the cat's-tongue edges his own tones harbor. Or are you just running blindly forward?
The thought is a popcorn kernel stuck behind a molar; it wedges itself in, makes its presence knows and hunkers down, refusing to be removed. And as he would tongue the stuck seed, his mind circles around the words, repeating them, finding truth buried in their long wavelengths. The question is one he doesn't know how to even think about answering, one that sours his stomach, drawing the acid from his stomach to his throat as he turns it over and over in his mind. He needs a distraction, something to draw him away from the problem, to keep him from focusing on the bleak greys of his life, the shade of overcast sky that signals an impending storm.
A cool tinge of wind ripples over his skin, drawing attention to the beads of perspiration there, the effect of his goalless wandering. It's perfect, a moment that draws him away from his troubles long enough to hear the sound of running water, too loud to be just a lazy river or the wide mouth of a lake.
He follows the echo of water, the none-too gentle lapping that leads him quite suddenly into a clearing; the heavy-branched trees surrounding him pull back to reveal a scene that leaves him breathless with sudden wonder, everything but the splendor in front of him chased away, momentarily wiped clean. From over a cliff of jagged rocks, a steady column of water pours, splashing on its way down, foaming as it hits the lake below. The body ripples and shudders as a whole, reacting to the constant stream feeding into its depths; Jaejoong stares, entranced, before pulling at the itchy cotton of his torn shirt, sliding it up and off, exposing himself to air hot as another’s touch, light on his chest as it explores, sliding over every surface that can be touched. His pants are next, pushed down, bunching around his ankles until he can kick them off, not minding, really, when sand ingratiates itself into the fabric, soaking in the sweat that had collected at his hips and lower back. He pauses, looks into the clearing and hopes nothing is peering back before sliding stifling boxers off and stepping forward, just far enough to allow the water to slip over his toes, its silken texture drawing a sigh of contentment from parted lips. He licks their rough surface, soothes the hard cracks as best he can before moving forward into the darkness of the lake. It envelops him, adjusts to his form and lifts him like a child, supports him as he rolls onto his back and splays his limbs out, bobbing back and forth, the only sound the rush of pouring water.
The light of an almost-full moon, no longer shrouded by the long arms of high-reaching trees, paints Jaejoong's skin the silver of new steel, casting him as something more than human, giving his already sharp looks a supernatural gloss, carving him into diamond curves, accentuating the pallor that even his long hours in the sun couldn't chase away. He stares into the solitary eye in the sky, looking into its infinity and wonders, as everyone does at some point in their life, if there's someone else out there, somewhere on a distant planet, doing the exact same thing as he at this very moment.
Hell, he's open to the possibility. He didn't think fairies existed two days ago, and look where he is now. His chest shakes at the thought and the night air echoes with the sound of his helpless laughter. Its foreignness only makes him realize how good it feels, losing himself to the silly thoughts usually squashed under the iron fist of his mind.
“I can see why he likes you.” The kiss of words clear as breath on a cold day come from nowhere, though by how far away they sound, the person is standing at the lake's shore, not wading next to him. Either way, his hands snap downward, interlacing to cover his sex though it's obscured completely, masked by the slithering opaqueness of the water that suddenly feels frigid. His skin rises in goosebumps as his body clenches, fat drops of water weeping from the tips of his wet hair, down his face and back.
“Who's there?” He lowers his voice, aware that its natural state is that of a child swinging on a sunny day-pleasant in the mildest, softest way. His vocal chords have all the masculinity of a kitten snoozing on a blanket. Squinting into the night does nothing except strain tired eyes, reveals nothing but a human-shaped shadow blending into the background of forest, though said human facade doesn't last long. The being begins to glow, a silver green color, as it comes closer. As she comes closer. It's the same woman who reached for his shriveled spirit, who helped Changmin keep him from disappearing inside himself. Between the pads of tapered fingers, she pinches the waistband of his boxers. With a strangled groan, he shoves them on underwater, displacing the gentle lull he'd been drawn into, the arms of the lake releasing him as he flopped around, graceless. With his modestly firmly covered, he turns back to her, watching as the last of the sea-foam wisps of glowing fog dissipate to leave behind thin legs, toes dipping into the water delicately, drifting this way and that before kicking, quite deliberately, a wave of water up toward Jaejoong's head.
“Wha-” he sputters, water sliding between his teeth, speechless at the sight of her merry grin.
“Lighten up, Jaejoong.” She laughs, silver peels like Christmas bells fake Santas ring on street corners come December. “You must be different at heart from the rest, anyway. Or you wouldn't see us at all.” The smile slips away, though the mirth remains folded, neat in her eyes. She is a mother, Jaejoong senses, even if she has no children of her own. But her benevolence, which he feels a mile off, doesn't change the fact that he remains in the dark about so many things, a prisoner, an outcast.
“What is it with you people and talking in code?” Daggers couldn't do as much damage as edges he carves into the question, lowering his chin, the burn in his eyes a dark smolder as he stares up, up at the delicate hum of her wings, the beauty that holds no interest to him, that doesn't entrance him as another's does.
“You, Jaejoong,” Her hand reaches for his and he's grasping too before he knows better; their touch is shockwaves in his blood, stomach-dropping euphoria that lifts him, pulls him into her eye line. He's-he's floating, levitating, tucked safely in her tight grasp, their fingers a weave of strength, an endless line he has no intention of pulling away from. “Are very strange to us.”
She earns a snort from him, derision covering up nervousness, the cold clench of trepidation in his stomach. “Humans haven't been able to see us, the Fae, in millenia, Jaejoong. But you do, with no spells, no Fae blood in your veins.”
Jaejoong's trying to pay attention, but focusing on the woman is like gathering sand being scattered to the wind. Fragments of sentences swirl around him, brushing through the canopy of the hair in his eyes, locks he can't be bothered with to move. He's light, barely there but everywhere at once, stretching to touch the tingling pressure on the edges of every synapse, every cell. Exhilaration replaces blood and he empties his mind to let his surroundings in.
Jaejoong, the woman's speaking differently now, jolting inside his veins though there's no pain, just the scream of pure life, pure energy. Do you trust me?
Jaejoong's mouth open, but all that fills the air is a rattle, low, from the back of his throat. Nothing comes, but the woman seems to know his answer anyway.
There's so much pain in you, young one. Her palm is on his chest, cupping the space where his heart beats dutifully, more out of habit than purpose. His eyes fill when he peers into hers, deeper than the sky above and just as vast. She knows him, sees down to his roots, every thought he's ever had, everything that's ever been done to him. And yet she remains serene, curls him closer to her chest and slides her hands around his back. He doesn't-why is she doing this? Why is she acting as if he's kin, part of the blood running in her own veins?
The Fae evolved by humanity's side. She sighs, her wistful disappointment a tight clamp around his heart. We lived together, as one until...until man decided that nature was expendable, that domination was the only goal worth having.
Jaejoong's throat thickens, the ache of sorrow streaking between his ribs, climbing toward his eyes. The pads of her fingers are soft on his arm, stroking absentmindedly, warming his water-soothed skin.
And so we separated, moving into the recesses of wilderness, until one day we realized they couldn't see us, their brothers and sisters, mothers and fathers. But as far as we pull back, they continue to surge forward.
Jaejoong doesn't need the situation to be spelled out any further; he knows what she's alluding to, the results of destruction and displacement.
“We're killing you.”
It's not your fault, young one. How were you to know? Her brown creases, and then eyes slide shut, hiding those endless irises. She raises her face to the sky and mutters in a language Jaejoong could never hope to know, rolling, knotted syllables like a mountainous landscape; she urges her words upward, releases them into the air above and it changes, grows dewy with the weight of building energy.
Let him see, let him hear, open to him, welcome him.
Lightning punctuates her chant, the over-and-over repetition Jaejoong doesn't notice he's begun to understand; it creeps closer, touching down over the cliff before dropping over the side, narrowly missing a tree to their left, an old oak that stands massive and intimidating, the face of a hardened war hero, someone that's seen too much for their years.
Hold on to me, she gasps, releasing the ring of words, the magic she'd kindled. Hold on and don't let go. And then all he sees is white, a lifting fire that shoots his soul through his body and then out, guiding it until it stretches cell-thin, calling to nature itself.
***
There isn't much to be said when he can focus long enough to realize that the trees around him are talking, a mix of fearanger and forgivenessregret, an even split, and it's all about him. Jaejoong doesn't believe in God, but he's on his knees, praying for forgiveness, though now it's to the tree he presses his palms to, catching his fingers on the gnarled bark, touching it at its core.
“Come child,” his companion says, watching as his eyes jump here and there, trying to locate the origin of the mutterings around him, the sudden and halting shift that's sent his schema for a roller coaster ride. “You need to rest.”
And he does. He's reeling, opened in ways he doesn't understand, can't comprehend. But the fear, the need to run, to be free has been snuffed, a flame that's retreated into curling smoke, the kindling gone from beneath the fire. Terror doesn't grip him as it should because something holds him inside, reassures him of his place, the goodness he's denied since he was twelve. A squeeze on his shoulder, tight and severe, turns his wide eyes back to his companion's face.
“You are good,” she says, drawing closer so their eyes tick together, tracking one another's movements. “This wouldn't have worked if you weren't.”
“Now come,” she says, starting forward, clasping his hand. “You're not the only one who needs saving.”
***
It's only after the two have walked away that a third, unnoticed party steps out of the protective shield of trees. He stares, unbelieving, until his eyes are nothing but the tiniest of slits, allowing none of the lightening sky's light in, though it would like nothing more than to highlight the tangled web of amber in his otherwise dark eyes. The constellation of gold has been witness to the impossible, a gift his people don't give. No human should be able to pass that test and come out cleanly on the other side-no human should be given what the Fae had to sacrifice so much to keep. Seething with the heat of anger jumping up his throat, Changmin allows himself to take flight, moving like a bullet through the air.
***
When old instincts, hard-wired flecks of impulses, electricity make their way up Jaejoong's spine telling him run run run, it takes all of his self-discipline (and a helping, seemingly weighted hand of his companion's) to remain impassive, especially as he stands in front of at least 100 people, eyes glowing in the darkness, wings moving in short, agitated strokes that punctuate the hard words pouring from their mouths. The angry murmurs falling easily from them pushes him into stasis, the memory of rejection, over and over again, dancing behind safety of his blank stare. His father's staring at him for a moment when he blinks, telling him to get out, that his face looks too much like his mother's and he can't have the reminder, not when he can't have her.
Every member of this crowd, this little hunting party wears that same expression, jaws tight, brows creased, though no one's back is straighter, no one wears their sash of anger quite so proudly as the man standing in front of them all, eyebrow raised in condescending patience.
Changmin.
Pairing: JaeMin
Rating: R
Genre: fantasy/romance/a wee bit of angst.
Length: chaptered
For: anihimesama
Summary: Jaejoong's just working a job, clearing a forest for a new city to be built. But what he finds is more than just the tranquility of nature; what happens when he's pulled into a world that he's been helping destroy? If it sounds sort of like Fern Gully.....it's sort of because that's where I got the idea :)
This is a kiss Jaejoong could sink into, forgetting his mind, his body, even, as Changmin's lips brushed over his own, beckoning for something pale and thin inside Jaejoong, a piece of himself he'd been hiding, never allowing to see the light of day. Changmin steals his breath and shuts down everything but the need to be closer. And then, when he feels like he feels like he must be glowing, like a star's burst within him and it's all he can do to keep from exploding with the force, Jaejoong finds he has too much air. It's cold, empty against his wet, kiss-swollen mouth. When he opens his eyes, Changmin is backing away, eyes more white than dark, shaking his head in disbelief.
“No.” He speaks to himself, to the part of himself that cracks open to inject the bile of doubt and shame into blood, curling around the spine to clench shoulders and stiffen muscles. “No. This is insane.” His wings twitch hard, a short flap that emphasizes the walls erected behind his gaze, a reinforced metal bent on keeping everything out, a fortress of cold steel. And like that, he's gone, leaving Jaejoong alone with a plate of cooling food.
And as much as Jaejoong would love to leave it uneaten, to be a child and starve himself, show them, whatever they are, that he needs none of their hospitality and would rather do without. But the acid that churns in his stomach says different, argues for him to extinguish the tremoring flicker of pride he still carries in favor of regaining some strength, feeling a bit more like himself. So shock-numbed hands reach for the sort of plate that remains on the ground, a woven disk filled with mixed vegetables, none of which he knows, and a large hunk of bread. It's sweet, nutty, and each bite ushers some solidity back into his body, a feeling almost like being whole.
Fool, he thinks, gnashing his teeth through helpless greens, swallowing a large bite audibly, biting at his lip where there's still a phantom warmth. You kissed him. You kissed something that tortured you. Do you have any self respect? But there's conflict in his thoughts, a push pull of actions and emotions, the look in Changmin's eyes just before Jaejoong had leaned in to kiss him, the slick shine of vulnerability that he'd seen and shown himself. It's too much to pore over, too much to keep inside and sort. He can't stay still, can't remain here. The cot-like bed is easy enough to climb off of, though he's unsteady on his feet for a moment before the one-two rhythm of walking emerges from muscle memory, guiding his bare feet to the flap of the almost-teepee.
Bare feet. They've taken his shoes. What, to keep him from escaping? Shackles without shackles. He just rolls his eyes, pushes through the makeshift door and takes in the thick-spiced night air. It's heavy with the fragrance of unfamiliar flora, the perfume of flowers that look like they belong in the amazon, all lush leaves and colors that fight for attention even with the draping of night's dark blanket. He starts off without rhyme or reason, directionless, just moving forward. Though he knows he can't escape, the need for space is an itch that must be scratched. He needs to be by himself, to collect the thoughts and jittery nerves that bound up and down his spine like kids playing tag, light footfalls sparks of paranoia and anxiety that zipline around organs and muscles, settling in his stomach. He's all instinct now, one thought moving one body, humming the tune of go go go, a single impulse giving him strength to keep moving forward.
He likes the dark, the starshine of light too far away to reach his face, to reveal the expressions he can feel freely under the cover of night. But even now he's locked in a dead stare, lips thin and pulled down, eyes wide but unseeing as they pass over his surroundings, only vaguely making sure to pay enough attention to keep him from running into things. He feels like he's walking through thick fog, mist bent on keeping him wandering, never able to clearly see his path, to truly know where he's going.
Do you ever know where you're going? A quiet voice asks him, a voice that sounds like his own, though it's too soft, too gentle, lacking the cat's-tongue edges his own tones harbor. Or are you just running blindly forward?
The thought is a popcorn kernel stuck behind a molar; it wedges itself in, makes its presence knows and hunkers down, refusing to be removed. And as he would tongue the stuck seed, his mind circles around the words, repeating them, finding truth buried in their long wavelengths. The question is one he doesn't know how to even think about answering, one that sours his stomach, drawing the acid from his stomach to his throat as he turns it over and over in his mind. He needs a distraction, something to draw him away from the problem, to keep him from focusing on the bleak greys of his life, the shade of overcast sky that signals an impending storm.
A cool tinge of wind ripples over his skin, drawing attention to the beads of perspiration there, the effect of his goalless wandering. It's perfect, a moment that draws him away from his troubles long enough to hear the sound of running water, too loud to be just a lazy river or the wide mouth of a lake.
He follows the echo of water, the none-too gentle lapping that leads him quite suddenly into a clearing; the heavy-branched trees surrounding him pull back to reveal a scene that leaves him breathless with sudden wonder, everything but the splendor in front of him chased away, momentarily wiped clean. From over a cliff of jagged rocks, a steady column of water pours, splashing on its way down, foaming as it hits the lake below. The body ripples and shudders as a whole, reacting to the constant stream feeding into its depths; Jaejoong stares, entranced, before pulling at the itchy cotton of his torn shirt, sliding it up and off, exposing himself to air hot as another’s touch, light on his chest as it explores, sliding over every surface that can be touched. His pants are next, pushed down, bunching around his ankles until he can kick them off, not minding, really, when sand ingratiates itself into the fabric, soaking in the sweat that had collected at his hips and lower back. He pauses, looks into the clearing and hopes nothing is peering back before sliding stifling boxers off and stepping forward, just far enough to allow the water to slip over his toes, its silken texture drawing a sigh of contentment from parted lips. He licks their rough surface, soothes the hard cracks as best he can before moving forward into the darkness of the lake. It envelops him, adjusts to his form and lifts him like a child, supports him as he rolls onto his back and splays his limbs out, bobbing back and forth, the only sound the rush of pouring water.
The light of an almost-full moon, no longer shrouded by the long arms of high-reaching trees, paints Jaejoong's skin the silver of new steel, casting him as something more than human, giving his already sharp looks a supernatural gloss, carving him into diamond curves, accentuating the pallor that even his long hours in the sun couldn't chase away. He stares into the solitary eye in the sky, looking into its infinity and wonders, as everyone does at some point in their life, if there's someone else out there, somewhere on a distant planet, doing the exact same thing as he at this very moment.
Hell, he's open to the possibility. He didn't think fairies existed two days ago, and look where he is now. His chest shakes at the thought and the night air echoes with the sound of his helpless laughter. Its foreignness only makes him realize how good it feels, losing himself to the silly thoughts usually squashed under the iron fist of his mind.
“I can see why he likes you.” The kiss of words clear as breath on a cold day come from nowhere, though by how far away they sound, the person is standing at the lake's shore, not wading next to him. Either way, his hands snap downward, interlacing to cover his sex though it's obscured completely, masked by the slithering opaqueness of the water that suddenly feels frigid. His skin rises in goosebumps as his body clenches, fat drops of water weeping from the tips of his wet hair, down his face and back.
“Who's there?” He lowers his voice, aware that its natural state is that of a child swinging on a sunny day-pleasant in the mildest, softest way. His vocal chords have all the masculinity of a kitten snoozing on a blanket. Squinting into the night does nothing except strain tired eyes, reveals nothing but a human-shaped shadow blending into the background of forest, though said human facade doesn't last long. The being begins to glow, a silver green color, as it comes closer. As she comes closer. It's the same woman who reached for his shriveled spirit, who helped Changmin keep him from disappearing inside himself. Between the pads of tapered fingers, she pinches the waistband of his boxers. With a strangled groan, he shoves them on underwater, displacing the gentle lull he'd been drawn into, the arms of the lake releasing him as he flopped around, graceless. With his modestly firmly covered, he turns back to her, watching as the last of the sea-foam wisps of glowing fog dissipate to leave behind thin legs, toes dipping into the water delicately, drifting this way and that before kicking, quite deliberately, a wave of water up toward Jaejoong's head.
“Wha-” he sputters, water sliding between his teeth, speechless at the sight of her merry grin.
“Lighten up, Jaejoong.” She laughs, silver peels like Christmas bells fake Santas ring on street corners come December. “You must be different at heart from the rest, anyway. Or you wouldn't see us at all.” The smile slips away, though the mirth remains folded, neat in her eyes. She is a mother, Jaejoong senses, even if she has no children of her own. But her benevolence, which he feels a mile off, doesn't change the fact that he remains in the dark about so many things, a prisoner, an outcast.
“What is it with you people and talking in code?” Daggers couldn't do as much damage as edges he carves into the question, lowering his chin, the burn in his eyes a dark smolder as he stares up, up at the delicate hum of her wings, the beauty that holds no interest to him, that doesn't entrance him as another's does.
“You, Jaejoong,” Her hand reaches for his and he's grasping too before he knows better; their touch is shockwaves in his blood, stomach-dropping euphoria that lifts him, pulls him into her eye line. He's-he's floating, levitating, tucked safely in her tight grasp, their fingers a weave of strength, an endless line he has no intention of pulling away from. “Are very strange to us.”
She earns a snort from him, derision covering up nervousness, the cold clench of trepidation in his stomach. “Humans haven't been able to see us, the Fae, in millenia, Jaejoong. But you do, with no spells, no Fae blood in your veins.”
Jaejoong's trying to pay attention, but focusing on the woman is like gathering sand being scattered to the wind. Fragments of sentences swirl around him, brushing through the canopy of the hair in his eyes, locks he can't be bothered with to move. He's light, barely there but everywhere at once, stretching to touch the tingling pressure on the edges of every synapse, every cell. Exhilaration replaces blood and he empties his mind to let his surroundings in.
Jaejoong, the woman's speaking differently now, jolting inside his veins though there's no pain, just the scream of pure life, pure energy. Do you trust me?
Jaejoong's mouth open, but all that fills the air is a rattle, low, from the back of his throat. Nothing comes, but the woman seems to know his answer anyway.
There's so much pain in you, young one. Her palm is on his chest, cupping the space where his heart beats dutifully, more out of habit than purpose. His eyes fill when he peers into hers, deeper than the sky above and just as vast. She knows him, sees down to his roots, every thought he's ever had, everything that's ever been done to him. And yet she remains serene, curls him closer to her chest and slides her hands around his back. He doesn't-why is she doing this? Why is she acting as if he's kin, part of the blood running in her own veins?
The Fae evolved by humanity's side. She sighs, her wistful disappointment a tight clamp around his heart. We lived together, as one until...until man decided that nature was expendable, that domination was the only goal worth having.
Jaejoong's throat thickens, the ache of sorrow streaking between his ribs, climbing toward his eyes. The pads of her fingers are soft on his arm, stroking absentmindedly, warming his water-soothed skin.
And so we separated, moving into the recesses of wilderness, until one day we realized they couldn't see us, their brothers and sisters, mothers and fathers. But as far as we pull back, they continue to surge forward.
Jaejoong doesn't need the situation to be spelled out any further; he knows what she's alluding to, the results of destruction and displacement.
“We're killing you.”
It's not your fault, young one. How were you to know? Her brown creases, and then eyes slide shut, hiding those endless irises. She raises her face to the sky and mutters in a language Jaejoong could never hope to know, rolling, knotted syllables like a mountainous landscape; she urges her words upward, releases them into the air above and it changes, grows dewy with the weight of building energy.
Let him see, let him hear, open to him, welcome him.
Lightning punctuates her chant, the over-and-over repetition Jaejoong doesn't notice he's begun to understand; it creeps closer, touching down over the cliff before dropping over the side, narrowly missing a tree to their left, an old oak that stands massive and intimidating, the face of a hardened war hero, someone that's seen too much for their years.
Hold on to me, she gasps, releasing the ring of words, the magic she'd kindled. Hold on and don't let go. And then all he sees is white, a lifting fire that shoots his soul through his body and then out, guiding it until it stretches cell-thin, calling to nature itself.
***
There isn't much to be said when he can focus long enough to realize that the trees around him are talking, a mix of fearanger and forgivenessregret, an even split, and it's all about him. Jaejoong doesn't believe in God, but he's on his knees, praying for forgiveness, though now it's to the tree he presses his palms to, catching his fingers on the gnarled bark, touching it at its core.
“Come child,” his companion says, watching as his eyes jump here and there, trying to locate the origin of the mutterings around him, the sudden and halting shift that's sent his schema for a roller coaster ride. “You need to rest.”
And he does. He's reeling, opened in ways he doesn't understand, can't comprehend. But the fear, the need to run, to be free has been snuffed, a flame that's retreated into curling smoke, the kindling gone from beneath the fire. Terror doesn't grip him as it should because something holds him inside, reassures him of his place, the goodness he's denied since he was twelve. A squeeze on his shoulder, tight and severe, turns his wide eyes back to his companion's face.
“You are good,” she says, drawing closer so their eyes tick together, tracking one another's movements. “This wouldn't have worked if you weren't.”
“Now come,” she says, starting forward, clasping his hand. “You're not the only one who needs saving.”
***
It's only after the two have walked away that a third, unnoticed party steps out of the protective shield of trees. He stares, unbelieving, until his eyes are nothing but the tiniest of slits, allowing none of the lightening sky's light in, though it would like nothing more than to highlight the tangled web of amber in his otherwise dark eyes. The constellation of gold has been witness to the impossible, a gift his people don't give. No human should be able to pass that test and come out cleanly on the other side-no human should be given what the Fae had to sacrifice so much to keep. Seething with the heat of anger jumping up his throat, Changmin allows himself to take flight, moving like a bullet through the air.
***
When old instincts, hard-wired flecks of impulses, electricity make their way up Jaejoong's spine telling him run run run, it takes all of his self-discipline (and a helping, seemingly weighted hand of his companion's) to remain impassive, especially as he stands in front of at least 100 people, eyes glowing in the darkness, wings moving in short, agitated strokes that punctuate the hard words pouring from their mouths. The angry murmurs falling easily from them pushes him into stasis, the memory of rejection, over and over again, dancing behind safety of his blank stare. His father's staring at him for a moment when he blinks, telling him to get out, that his face looks too much like his mother's and he can't have the reminder, not when he can't have her.
Every member of this crowd, this little hunting party wears that same expression, jaws tight, brows creased, though no one's back is straighter, no one wears their sash of anger quite so proudly as the man standing in front of them all, eyebrow raised in condescending patience.
Changmin.