that bright star (is that you?) [yewook]
Title: That Bright Star (Is That You?)
Author: shuuseieki
Pairing: YeWook
Genre: Angst (and when I say angst, I mean aaaaaaaannnnnnngst, srsly.)
Rating: PG-15
Word Count: 2,525
Warnings: AU, character death yesiknowpleasedonthatemeeee
Summary: Love: it was never something that came easily, at least, not for Ryeowook. Love was sacrifices, and he knew it.
For refracthope because I love her to bits and pieces and little heart-shaped fragments and more than she could ever love me, really, and because I had the sudden inspiration to write this up (while daydreaming in History). ;w; ♥
---
Stop coming back here!
"Stop going back there."
(cold, chilling, unnerving - like everything else in ryeowook's life, other than jongwoon.)
And he shook his head, an infinitesimal degree to each side. He couldn't see anything - or rather, didn't want to see anything, at that moment - other than the dull white of the marble floor. (so different from the technicoloured world when he was with jongwoon, where every shade would stand out in a beautiful contrast, like a painted picture.) His chestnut eyes traced the subtle greyish-pink lines along the tiles, wishing the colour, texture, feel-- the sheer coldness of it, would numb the pain rippling through his heart, tearing at the fragile thread that was his soul, weakening every muscle in his body. Surprisingly slender fingers invaded his vision; reaching down to touch his face, caressing his cheek ever so softly, revelling in the soft flesh, leaving a burning trail as they slid over his skin--
And suddenly it wasn't dull white anymore, it was a bright, blinding one, searing into the back of his eyelids, imprinting the burning image. He could feel the side of his head throbbing, a slow and erratic pulse. (so different from the gentle beat that he heard whenever he lay his head against jongwoon's chest, fingers intertwined, engulfed in warmth.) White slowly changed into grey, and then transformed into black, and then morphed into red as he dared his eyes to open. He felt a thick pressure weighing down on his left eyelid; warm - no, hot - liquid sliding down that side of his face, emblazing a trail of scarlet. Everything was strangely disjointed, out-of-focus, double-lined; it slowly came into focus, object edges sharpening. Then he could see himself - injured, broken, destroyed - through his right eye, staring at the image of the broken man reflected in the mirror. A part of the man's hair was soaked in fresh, bright red blood, and his face was stoic, devoid of emotion. But his eyes unveiled everything, the broken man that he was, his heart coming loose, his tears threatening to overflow, his determination set to crumble--
And he saw the broken man no more, instead a pair of gleaming golden eyes, blazing with an otherworldly fire. (so different from jongwoon's loving gaze, the one he could stare into for years on end.) Warm breath blew against his face, sharp fingernails cutting into his flesh as they slid down his arm. "Maybe I haven't made myself clear enough," the other man whispered, voice husky and deep yet so dangerous, pulling away a little. He watched, fading in and out of full consciousness, the man - no, his master, as befitting his social status - ran his fingers in a carefree manner against the display of knives on the table, ends gold-plated, tips sharper than fresh needles, gleaming silver in the chandelier's warm light. The man's lips curled into a feral, predatory smile as he grasped the handle of the familiar torture weapon, the length of the whip touching the floor, black, the colour he has had enough of--
And he screamed, his body tumbling onto the smooth wooden floor like a ragged doll, a corpse. (so different from the way jongwoon would carry him, bridal-style, to meadows on the outskirts of town, placing him gently on the grass and pointing to his make-believe constellation.) He can't feel his legs anymore, his fingers won't cooperate, his eyes won't open, his head won't stop throbbing, his back was split open, his throat was burning; the sensations that he experienced almost weekly now, a horrifying sequence - the tension, the terror, the fear, the pain, the hurt, and he would always, always say a little prayer that Jongwoon was never here to see it. The whip came down again, penetrating his skin, the searing pain as the skin gave away and raw muscle came into contact with rubber and cold air; his screams were so loud, so shrill that he wasn't sure if he was still screaming or if it was just ringing in his ears, his fingers grabbing aimlessly at the floor, smearing red all over the place, and it wasn't white anymore at all, just red and black and red again--
And a whimper escaped his lips at what could've been hours, days, years later, even, he lay on the floor, tasting blood on his tongue, smelling blood all over him, blood hardening on the side of his face. He wasn't screaming anymore, he was begging, pleading, crying, for the pain to stop, to go away, for him to wake up and realize it was all dream, to find a pair of warm arms and a soft voice telling him it was a nightmare, that it would never come back; he couldn't stand the pain anymore, no, he'd rather die, go through the fires of hell and back to get away from this. He was whimpering a name he would never let go of, Jongwoon, Jongwoon!, praying and hoping and wishing that Jongwoon would take him away from this, begging for mercy, but the name angered his master even more, and the whip came down harder, until red slowly flickered to white again--
And with a final kick on his back,
a final scream,
a final whimper,
everything was silent again
except for the quiet whispers
of Ryeowook calling Jongwoon's name.
---
Stop going back there.
"Stop coming back here!"
(despite the desperation, agony, pain that ryeowook heard in jongwoon's plea, his voice remained as melodious, beautiful as ever.)
And this time, he dared to shake his head a little more, dared to look into those beautiful chocolate eyes, liquid with worry and concern and brimming with love, dared to reach out and touch, feel, memorize every feature of Jongwoon's. The older man grew still under the touch, letting out a gentle sigh that sounded like the tinkling of a night breeze, leaning into the touch, uncaring about anything else at that moment. His fingers slid slowly across the milky, fair skin, tracing the shape of his lover's eyes, jaw, lips, wanting time to stop forever, to paralyze them like this, where no one could possibly tear them apart, to create a little world of their own where they could love each other with nothing to stop them--
And he took a little step forward, pressing his lips carefully, cautiously, gently against the other's, applying the softest pressure, their mouths moulding against each other's perfectly, puzzle pieces meant to be. He - no, they - hoped and prayed and wished this would go on and on, not wanting the kiss to break, not wanting to lose the other's touch, not wanting or needing oxygen; they were just two young people in love, and all they wanted and needed was each other, nothing else. Arms wrapped around his fragile torso, pulling him closer, their bodies as one; the kiss grew deeper, their longing and love and the sheer desperation to be together overwhelming them, and it was blissful, so blissful, their lips touching and soft moans escaping, beautiful, beautiful sounds---
And suddenly he wasn't feeling the plush texture of Jongwoon's lips anymore, it was cold air; a dreaded feeling pooled in his stomach, pain electrified his skull as he was yanked back by the hair, his body coming into contact with the smooth wooden floor, the friction scathing his arms and legs. He heard a scream, in that melodious voice, and he was thinking that Jongwoon should never scream like that, ever, even as he dared himself to open his eyes and saw the familiar black weapon, his master, and his lover. Jongwoon was screaming, begging, to spare him, tears sliding down his face, crystalline drops dotting the floor a dark brown, screaming to take his place. But he wasn't worried about the pain, no, he'd gotten used to it, there's no point, it felt numb. Lies, his mind tells him, but the only thing tugging at his heartstrings, was that Jongwoon was here to see him being tortured this time, and he knew, his lover would never be able to pick himself off the trauma of it, and the older man would blame himself for it, no matter how much it seemed otherwise. And he could hear a desperate voice, Please, please don't hurt him anymore, I'll take his place, please!; a soft chuckle, "I don't think I could let that happen, you're a nobleman, or have you forgotten your status associating yourself with that filth?" The whip's end hit his raw skin, still unhealed from the day before, splitting the skin open again, and it was so painful, two screams filled the air--
*
"Are you sure you can create constellations?"
"Of course I can! I'll teach you someday."
"I read a lot, you know, and I haven't heard anything about being able to do that."
"Well, it's not in the books, because it's something only I know how to do!"
"Mm, okay. Will you name it?"
"Yeah. Ryeowook, maybe."
"Really?"
"Yeah, and I'm going to put it next to that long-ish one, I named it Yesung, but it's actually me."
"It doesn't look like you at all!"
And they fell into a laughing tumble onto the moist grass as Jongwoon tackled him, feeling the dewdrops on their skin as Ryeowook curled up next to Jongwoon, his fingers grasping the soft fabric of the other's shirt. For a few moments, everything was quiet, except for the gentle blowing of the night air, the steady sounds of their breathing, the rhythmic, synchronized pulses of their heartbeats. Then, a quiet question.
Wook-ah, do... do you think about dying?
He stiffened beneath those protective arms, then buried his face in the other's chest. His answer was just barely audible, but Jongwoon caught it anyway. "I-It's not that my life's perfect. You know I get hurt everyday, and I never fully recover before it comes again, but I have you, Jongwoon, and that's more than enough for me, really. Happiness comes at a price, everyone knows that. We sneak out to do this, and I know it's wrong, but I want to spend more time with you, be with you. I know that if Master ever found out about this, we'd be torn apart, but I love you, Jongwoon, I love you so much I'm a hopeless mess without you, I love you so much it hurts, physically even, to be away from you. I-I'd do anything for this, really. And if I do die, I want to die by your hands. If I die, I want to know that you were the one who wanted me to die, because then it'd be okay."
Ryeowook felt the older man's lips brush lightly against his hair, and pulled away to gaze into those chocolate eyes. And just before their mouths met, Jongwoon murmured, "Well, that's unlikely to happen, isn't it?"
*
And it wasn't screaming anymore, it was sobs penetrating the air as the whip came down, again and again, slicing open his skin, oozing blood out of the open wounds on his back. It was back to red, black and white again, flickering dimly between the colours, the colours he'd gotten so used to; but he could still hear Jongwoon's cries, begging for the torture to stop, and he wanted so badly to reach out and touch him, to reassure him, to tell him to stop crying, to tell him he was okay. He wished, more than anything, that Jongwoon wasn't here to see this; how did his master know he was over at his lover's home? He felt something different this time, oh, he knew what it was, and his body was hurting so much this new injury seemed numb; his master ran a knife up his body, ending at his chest, right above his heart, then bent over to whisper in his ear, "You'll regret ever misbehaving, Ryeowook-ah, another day."
And he could hear the metal of the knife collide sharply with the legs of the nearest wooden table, sliding across the floor, and his master was gone just as quickly as he had come, and he could hear stumbling, crawling, and he felt his body being cradled gently, that familiar warmth enveloping him again. He willed his eyes to open, if only to see that beautiful, god-like face of his lover's again, and he felt droplets of liquid fall onto his face, tears purer than the most sacred spring in the world; he reached up with trembling fingers to wipe them away, wanting so much to see that radiant, coruscating smile again. He heard Jongwoon's voice, shaking with terror, pain, "Y-You once said you only wanted to die by my hand, right?" He nodded, felt himself being raised gently until his lips touched Jongwoon's, kissing him deep, pouring all his love into the touch, and then let out a sharp gasp of air into the other's mouth as he felt a subtle pain in his chest, sending jolts right to his heart.
And Jongwoon pulled away, crying again, whispering words of love, whispering apologies, Wook-ah, I love you, I love you so much, I'm sorry, I love you, and he gazed down at his chest, the end of the gold-plated knife sticking out neatly from his fair skin. He lifted his head to meet his lover's gaze and smiled, one last smile, telling him it was all okay, telling him it was fine with him, intertwining his fingers with the other--
And suddenly,
his vision flickered from red to white to black,
and it didn't flicker back anymore.
Everything was silent again
except for the quiet whispers
of Jongwoon calling Ryeowook's name.
---
Jongwoon brushed his fingers against the stone, a single slab of white intersecting the endless plain of green, brimming with familiarity; he could still feel Ryeowook here, remembering their times here together. But strangely enough, the stone was never cold. It was always - for the last seven times he'd been here in seven days - warm, always, just like Ryeowook himself; as he placed a bouquet of flowers against the stone, his tears fell, and he hurriedly wiped them away, because Ryeowook always told him never to cry. I'd cry if you cry; do you want to see me cry? He could still remember, how much it hurt him, like a hole drilled through his heart, to see Ryeowook being tortured, and because of him, no less; he had to think of a way to take away the pain, he had promised Ryeowook, he would never let him get hurt. He sat next to the grave for a moment, staring at the engraving on the stone, Kim Ryeowook - whose heart was so big, who had so much love to give, who deserved so much more - I love you. It's been a week, Jongwoon knows, as he stares up at the sky, a beautiful midnight blue, the moonlight shining bright, illuminating all else below.
And suddenly he realized,
next to that constellation he called Yesung,
was another one
sparkling so brightly, sparkling brilliant white,
it seemed it was gazing at him.
Ryeowook.
---
Please don't kill me. D:
LEXIS, HERE YOU GO, AND I LOVE YOU, OKAY. ;^; ♥♥♥
What're you doing to me, I can't believe I just wrote YeWook, bb, and this is my first Super Junior fic and it's not even my OTPs. /weeps in joy and holds you
Author: shuuseieki
Pairing: YeWook
Genre: Angst (and when I say angst, I mean aaaaaaaannnnnnngst, srsly.)
Rating: PG-15
Word Count: 2,525
Warnings: AU, character death yesiknowpleasedonthatemeeee
Summary: Love: it was never something that came easily, at least, not for Ryeowook. Love was sacrifices, and he knew it.
For refracthope because I love her to bits and pieces and little heart-shaped fragments and more than she could ever love me, really, and because I had the sudden inspiration to write this up (while daydreaming in History). ;w; ♥
---
Stop coming back here!
"Stop going back there."
(cold, chilling, unnerving - like everything else in ryeowook's life, other than jongwoon.)
And he shook his head, an infinitesimal degree to each side. He couldn't see anything - or rather, didn't want to see anything, at that moment - other than the dull white of the marble floor. (so different from the technicoloured world when he was with jongwoon, where every shade would stand out in a beautiful contrast, like a painted picture.) His chestnut eyes traced the subtle greyish-pink lines along the tiles, wishing the colour, texture, feel-- the sheer coldness of it, would numb the pain rippling through his heart, tearing at the fragile thread that was his soul, weakening every muscle in his body. Surprisingly slender fingers invaded his vision; reaching down to touch his face, caressing his cheek ever so softly, revelling in the soft flesh, leaving a burning trail as they slid over his skin--
And suddenly it wasn't dull white anymore, it was a bright, blinding one, searing into the back of his eyelids, imprinting the burning image. He could feel the side of his head throbbing, a slow and erratic pulse. (so different from the gentle beat that he heard whenever he lay his head against jongwoon's chest, fingers intertwined, engulfed in warmth.) White slowly changed into grey, and then transformed into black, and then morphed into red as he dared his eyes to open. He felt a thick pressure weighing down on his left eyelid; warm - no, hot - liquid sliding down that side of his face, emblazing a trail of scarlet. Everything was strangely disjointed, out-of-focus, double-lined; it slowly came into focus, object edges sharpening. Then he could see himself - injured, broken, destroyed - through his right eye, staring at the image of the broken man reflected in the mirror. A part of the man's hair was soaked in fresh, bright red blood, and his face was stoic, devoid of emotion. But his eyes unveiled everything, the broken man that he was, his heart coming loose, his tears threatening to overflow, his determination set to crumble--
And he saw the broken man no more, instead a pair of gleaming golden eyes, blazing with an otherworldly fire. (so different from jongwoon's loving gaze, the one he could stare into for years on end.) Warm breath blew against his face, sharp fingernails cutting into his flesh as they slid down his arm. "Maybe I haven't made myself clear enough," the other man whispered, voice husky and deep yet so dangerous, pulling away a little. He watched, fading in and out of full consciousness, the man - no, his master, as befitting his social status - ran his fingers in a carefree manner against the display of knives on the table, ends gold-plated, tips sharper than fresh needles, gleaming silver in the chandelier's warm light. The man's lips curled into a feral, predatory smile as he grasped the handle of the familiar torture weapon, the length of the whip touching the floor, black, the colour he has had enough of--
And he screamed, his body tumbling onto the smooth wooden floor like a ragged doll, a corpse. (so different from the way jongwoon would carry him, bridal-style, to meadows on the outskirts of town, placing him gently on the grass and pointing to his make-believe constellation.) He can't feel his legs anymore, his fingers won't cooperate, his eyes won't open, his head won't stop throbbing, his back was split open, his throat was burning; the sensations that he experienced almost weekly now, a horrifying sequence - the tension, the terror, the fear, the pain, the hurt, and he would always, always say a little prayer that Jongwoon was never here to see it. The whip came down again, penetrating his skin, the searing pain as the skin gave away and raw muscle came into contact with rubber and cold air; his screams were so loud, so shrill that he wasn't sure if he was still screaming or if it was just ringing in his ears, his fingers grabbing aimlessly at the floor, smearing red all over the place, and it wasn't white anymore at all, just red and black and red again--
And a whimper escaped his lips at what could've been hours, days, years later, even, he lay on the floor, tasting blood on his tongue, smelling blood all over him, blood hardening on the side of his face. He wasn't screaming anymore, he was begging, pleading, crying, for the pain to stop, to go away, for him to wake up and realize it was all dream, to find a pair of warm arms and a soft voice telling him it was a nightmare, that it would never come back; he couldn't stand the pain anymore, no, he'd rather die, go through the fires of hell and back to get away from this. He was whimpering a name he would never let go of, Jongwoon, Jongwoon!, praying and hoping and wishing that Jongwoon would take him away from this, begging for mercy, but the name angered his master even more, and the whip came down harder, until red slowly flickered to white again--
And with a final kick on his back,
a final scream,
a final whimper,
everything was silent again
except for the quiet whispers
of Ryeowook calling Jongwoon's name.
---
Stop going back there.
"Stop coming back here!"
(despite the desperation, agony, pain that ryeowook heard in jongwoon's plea, his voice remained as melodious, beautiful as ever.)
And this time, he dared to shake his head a little more, dared to look into those beautiful chocolate eyes, liquid with worry and concern and brimming with love, dared to reach out and touch, feel, memorize every feature of Jongwoon's. The older man grew still under the touch, letting out a gentle sigh that sounded like the tinkling of a night breeze, leaning into the touch, uncaring about anything else at that moment. His fingers slid slowly across the milky, fair skin, tracing the shape of his lover's eyes, jaw, lips, wanting time to stop forever, to paralyze them like this, where no one could possibly tear them apart, to create a little world of their own where they could love each other with nothing to stop them--
And he took a little step forward, pressing his lips carefully, cautiously, gently against the other's, applying the softest pressure, their mouths moulding against each other's perfectly, puzzle pieces meant to be. He - no, they - hoped and prayed and wished this would go on and on, not wanting the kiss to break, not wanting to lose the other's touch, not wanting or needing oxygen; they were just two young people in love, and all they wanted and needed was each other, nothing else. Arms wrapped around his fragile torso, pulling him closer, their bodies as one; the kiss grew deeper, their longing and love and the sheer desperation to be together overwhelming them, and it was blissful, so blissful, their lips touching and soft moans escaping, beautiful, beautiful sounds---
And suddenly he wasn't feeling the plush texture of Jongwoon's lips anymore, it was cold air; a dreaded feeling pooled in his stomach, pain electrified his skull as he was yanked back by the hair, his body coming into contact with the smooth wooden floor, the friction scathing his arms and legs. He heard a scream, in that melodious voice, and he was thinking that Jongwoon should never scream like that, ever, even as he dared himself to open his eyes and saw the familiar black weapon, his master, and his lover. Jongwoon was screaming, begging, to spare him, tears sliding down his face, crystalline drops dotting the floor a dark brown, screaming to take his place. But he wasn't worried about the pain, no, he'd gotten used to it, there's no point, it felt numb. Lies, his mind tells him, but the only thing tugging at his heartstrings, was that Jongwoon was here to see him being tortured this time, and he knew, his lover would never be able to pick himself off the trauma of it, and the older man would blame himself for it, no matter how much it seemed otherwise. And he could hear a desperate voice, Please, please don't hurt him anymore, I'll take his place, please!; a soft chuckle, "I don't think I could let that happen, you're a nobleman, or have you forgotten your status associating yourself with that filth?" The whip's end hit his raw skin, still unhealed from the day before, splitting the skin open again, and it was so painful, two screams filled the air--
*
"Are you sure you can create constellations?"
"Of course I can! I'll teach you someday."
"I read a lot, you know, and I haven't heard anything about being able to do that."
"Well, it's not in the books, because it's something only I know how to do!"
"Mm, okay. Will you name it?"
"Yeah. Ryeowook, maybe."
"Really?"
"Yeah, and I'm going to put it next to that long-ish one, I named it Yesung, but it's actually me."
"It doesn't look like you at all!"
And they fell into a laughing tumble onto the moist grass as Jongwoon tackled him, feeling the dewdrops on their skin as Ryeowook curled up next to Jongwoon, his fingers grasping the soft fabric of the other's shirt. For a few moments, everything was quiet, except for the gentle blowing of the night air, the steady sounds of their breathing, the rhythmic, synchronized pulses of their heartbeats. Then, a quiet question.
Wook-ah, do... do you think about dying?
He stiffened beneath those protective arms, then buried his face in the other's chest. His answer was just barely audible, but Jongwoon caught it anyway. "I-It's not that my life's perfect. You know I get hurt everyday, and I never fully recover before it comes again, but I have you, Jongwoon, and that's more than enough for me, really. Happiness comes at a price, everyone knows that. We sneak out to do this, and I know it's wrong, but I want to spend more time with you, be with you. I know that if Master ever found out about this, we'd be torn apart, but I love you, Jongwoon, I love you so much I'm a hopeless mess without you, I love you so much it hurts, physically even, to be away from you. I-I'd do anything for this, really. And if I do die, I want to die by your hands. If I die, I want to know that you were the one who wanted me to die, because then it'd be okay."
Ryeowook felt the older man's lips brush lightly against his hair, and pulled away to gaze into those chocolate eyes. And just before their mouths met, Jongwoon murmured, "Well, that's unlikely to happen, isn't it?"
*
And it wasn't screaming anymore, it was sobs penetrating the air as the whip came down, again and again, slicing open his skin, oozing blood out of the open wounds on his back. It was back to red, black and white again, flickering dimly between the colours, the colours he'd gotten so used to; but he could still hear Jongwoon's cries, begging for the torture to stop, and he wanted so badly to reach out and touch him, to reassure him, to tell him to stop crying, to tell him he was okay. He wished, more than anything, that Jongwoon wasn't here to see this; how did his master know he was over at his lover's home? He felt something different this time, oh, he knew what it was, and his body was hurting so much this new injury seemed numb; his master ran a knife up his body, ending at his chest, right above his heart, then bent over to whisper in his ear, "You'll regret ever misbehaving, Ryeowook-ah, another day."
And he could hear the metal of the knife collide sharply with the legs of the nearest wooden table, sliding across the floor, and his master was gone just as quickly as he had come, and he could hear stumbling, crawling, and he felt his body being cradled gently, that familiar warmth enveloping him again. He willed his eyes to open, if only to see that beautiful, god-like face of his lover's again, and he felt droplets of liquid fall onto his face, tears purer than the most sacred spring in the world; he reached up with trembling fingers to wipe them away, wanting so much to see that radiant, coruscating smile again. He heard Jongwoon's voice, shaking with terror, pain, "Y-You once said you only wanted to die by my hand, right?" He nodded, felt himself being raised gently until his lips touched Jongwoon's, kissing him deep, pouring all his love into the touch, and then let out a sharp gasp of air into the other's mouth as he felt a subtle pain in his chest, sending jolts right to his heart.
And Jongwoon pulled away, crying again, whispering words of love, whispering apologies, Wook-ah, I love you, I love you so much, I'm sorry, I love you, and he gazed down at his chest, the end of the gold-plated knife sticking out neatly from his fair skin. He lifted his head to meet his lover's gaze and smiled, one last smile, telling him it was all okay, telling him it was fine with him, intertwining his fingers with the other--
And suddenly,
his vision flickered from red to white to black,
and it didn't flicker back anymore.
Everything was silent again
except for the quiet whispers
of Jongwoon calling Ryeowook's name.
---
Jongwoon brushed his fingers against the stone, a single slab of white intersecting the endless plain of green, brimming with familiarity; he could still feel Ryeowook here, remembering their times here together. But strangely enough, the stone was never cold. It was always - for the last seven times he'd been here in seven days - warm, always, just like Ryeowook himself; as he placed a bouquet of flowers against the stone, his tears fell, and he hurriedly wiped them away, because Ryeowook always told him never to cry. I'd cry if you cry; do you want to see me cry? He could still remember, how much it hurt him, like a hole drilled through his heart, to see Ryeowook being tortured, and because of him, no less; he had to think of a way to take away the pain, he had promised Ryeowook, he would never let him get hurt. He sat next to the grave for a moment, staring at the engraving on the stone, Kim Ryeowook - whose heart was so big, who had so much love to give, who deserved so much more - I love you. It's been a week, Jongwoon knows, as he stares up at the sky, a beautiful midnight blue, the moonlight shining bright, illuminating all else below.
And suddenly he realized,
next to that constellation he called Yesung,
was another one
sparkling so brightly, sparkling brilliant white,
it seemed it was gazing at him.
Ryeowook.
---
Please don't kill me. D:
LEXIS, HERE YOU GO, AND I LOVE YOU, OKAY. ;^; ♥♥♥
What're you doing to me, I can't believe I just wrote YeWook, bb, and this is my first Super Junior fic and it's not even my OTPs. /weeps in joy and holds you