100 Suju Fics
Fic no: 002/100
#88. Numbers, Eeteuk/Kyuhyun
PG-13, angst, character death
100 Fics Archive
Eeteuk recites names slowly, lips forming the words carefully, each one a silent exhalation of breath; counts with his fingers. Eeteuk, Heechul, Hangeng, Yehsung, Kangin, Shindong, Sungmin, Hyukjae, Donghae, Siwon, Ryeowook, Kibum-
Twelve. Twelve, twelve, always twelve, goddamnit-
Someone’s missing, he says, his voice small and tinny in his ears, faraway. Who’s missing?
Their faces are blank, blank, puzzled, and it scares Eeteuk more than it should. Everyone’s here, hyung, Kibum says, smooth, dispassionate, deadly like the calm before a storm, and Eeteuk fights the bile (hot, acrid, bitter like poison) rising steadily up his throat.
It terrifies him that he’s forgotten, that he doesn’t even have a name to put to a face, features to match to letters. Numbers are all he has, a constant litany in the corner of his mind. Thirteen. Thirteen, thirteen, thirteen- He isn’t aware he’s speaking out loud, until he sees Sungmin’s stricken look, until Kangin approaches, brow furrowed, large hands firm, unyielding.
Sleep, hyung, Kangin says, brisk, no nonsense; pushes at his shoulders and draws the covers up around him.
Thirteen, Eeteuk thinks faintly as they turn off the lights and file slowly out of the room, thirteen, before the darkness reaches out (creeping, insidious, claws carefully sheathed) to claim him.
---
Eeteuk dreams of a voice, mellow, soulful; thinks he recognizes the melody it wraps around, if not the words. He follows it, feet moving on instinct, the song growing louder as he gets closer, stronger. There’s grey all around, a mist, cold and clinging, so thick he can barely see his fingers in front of him. He’s running, then, running as fast as he’s ever run, and then there’s a shape ahead, heading away-
Wait, Eeteuk pleads, wait-
He wakes up shivering, drenched in cold sweat, blankets twisted about his thin frame. Hangeng is watching him, he sees, worry etched in the lines about his eyes, lines that Eeteuk doesn’t remember ever seeing before.
Thirteen, he scrawls on white, unmarked paper, over and over and over again. Thirteen, thirteen, thirteen.
Hyung, Donghae says, voice cracking on the end of the syllable, and Hyukjae wraps arms around him; presses a kiss to his temple. There’s a flash of something in Yehsung’s eyes that Eeteuk doesn’t miss, a warning, but Eeteuk doesn’t care, doesn’t have the time for their petty little secrets.
Thirteen, he continues, strokes careful, precise. Thirteen, thirteen, thirteen.
---
There’s a boy ahead of him, he sees, tall, long-limbed, soft about the edges, unfocused like a badly taken snapshot. There’s a flash of teeth, muffled laughter, and then the boy is moving, walking away, legs propelling him forward effortlessly, ever forward, so fast Eeteuk has to run to catch up.
Wait, he pants, breathless, wait, please-
The boy turns at the touch of Eeteuk’s hand on his shoulder, and then Eeteuk is shaking his head and backing away, back and back and back. There’s blood over half his face, cruel gashes in his cheeks, a split in his scalp, and the eyes are cold, cold, dead-
Hyung, and the voice is the same, the same, only pleading, this time, plaintive, strangled with pain, hyung, save me, help me, hyung, it hurts-
No, Eeteuk moans, no, no, no, as if he can make it all better just by repeating it enough, as if he can will this horror away, hands coming up in a warding gesture, fingers grasping involuntarily for his dongsaeng’s shirt, because it’s his job to help, it’s his duty to save-
His hands are stained now, the liquid dark, dark, tacky. Eeteuk wipes them on his shirt with a shudder; swipes at the cut in the boy’s lip. You’ll be fine, he says, voice barely wavering, fine, just fine-
Hyung, he says, soft, soft, soft, his eyes closing, and then he’s falling, away and away and away, and Eeteuk lunges after him; watches as he slips through his clumsy fingers, thin, insubstantial as smoke, as fleeting as the last shreds of dreams upon waking.
Kyuhyun, on his lips, when his eyes snap open. There’s a name now, a face, dampness on his cheeks, a strange hollow in his chest. Kyuhyun, he says when the door opens to admit Siwon, and he watches as Siwon’s face changes, watches as his eyes widen before his expression softens, and it’s almost unbearable, the pity in the younger boy’s face, the heaviness in the set of his shoulders. Kyuhyun, Eeteuk says, over and over, oh god, Kyuhyun; lets Siwon hold him as he shakes.
---
Nothing left but numbers now, on creased pieces of paper, in framed photographs, to show they were ever more than twelve. Eeteuk recites names slowly, lips forming the words carefully, each one a silent exhalation of breath; counts with his fingers.
The headstone is small, clean, simple, the epitaph short and succinct. Thirteen, he finishes as he stoops, as he places the flowers gently on the ground, fingertips tracing the inscription.
Thirteen, he repeats more firmly as he straightens and stands; meets their eyes. I carry him, his raised hand says, palm flat against his chest, here-
Thirteen, Ryeowook echoes, eyes wet, and they all take his lead as Eeteuk is drawn back into the group. Thirteen, Shindong says, uncharacteristically sober. Thirteen, from Heechul. Thirteen, one after the other, spiraling up and out and into the empty spaces between them.
Eeteuk thinks of strength in numbers, of being filled up, of coming full circle. If there was a hole before, a gaping chasm, there isn’t one now, their hands clasped, arms about each other’s waists, heads together. Eeteuk counts again, with his fingers; imagines he can see just one more, blurred about the edges at the corners of his vision; imagines he could reach out to touch, if he really wanted to.
Thirteen.
#88. Numbers, Eeteuk/Kyuhyun
PG-13, angst, character death
100 Fics Archive
Eeteuk recites names slowly, lips forming the words carefully, each one a silent exhalation of breath; counts with his fingers. Eeteuk, Heechul, Hangeng, Yehsung, Kangin, Shindong, Sungmin, Hyukjae, Donghae, Siwon, Ryeowook, Kibum-
Twelve. Twelve, twelve, always twelve, goddamnit-
Someone’s missing, he says, his voice small and tinny in his ears, faraway. Who’s missing?
Their faces are blank, blank, puzzled, and it scares Eeteuk more than it should. Everyone’s here, hyung, Kibum says, smooth, dispassionate, deadly like the calm before a storm, and Eeteuk fights the bile (hot, acrid, bitter like poison) rising steadily up his throat.
It terrifies him that he’s forgotten, that he doesn’t even have a name to put to a face, features to match to letters. Numbers are all he has, a constant litany in the corner of his mind. Thirteen. Thirteen, thirteen, thirteen- He isn’t aware he’s speaking out loud, until he sees Sungmin’s stricken look, until Kangin approaches, brow furrowed, large hands firm, unyielding.
Sleep, hyung, Kangin says, brisk, no nonsense; pushes at his shoulders and draws the covers up around him.
Thirteen, Eeteuk thinks faintly as they turn off the lights and file slowly out of the room, thirteen, before the darkness reaches out (creeping, insidious, claws carefully sheathed) to claim him.
---
Eeteuk dreams of a voice, mellow, soulful; thinks he recognizes the melody it wraps around, if not the words. He follows it, feet moving on instinct, the song growing louder as he gets closer, stronger. There’s grey all around, a mist, cold and clinging, so thick he can barely see his fingers in front of him. He’s running, then, running as fast as he’s ever run, and then there’s a shape ahead, heading away-
Wait, Eeteuk pleads, wait-
He wakes up shivering, drenched in cold sweat, blankets twisted about his thin frame. Hangeng is watching him, he sees, worry etched in the lines about his eyes, lines that Eeteuk doesn’t remember ever seeing before.
Thirteen, he scrawls on white, unmarked paper, over and over and over again. Thirteen, thirteen, thirteen.
Hyung, Donghae says, voice cracking on the end of the syllable, and Hyukjae wraps arms around him; presses a kiss to his temple. There’s a flash of something in Yehsung’s eyes that Eeteuk doesn’t miss, a warning, but Eeteuk doesn’t care, doesn’t have the time for their petty little secrets.
Thirteen, he continues, strokes careful, precise. Thirteen, thirteen, thirteen.
---
There’s a boy ahead of him, he sees, tall, long-limbed, soft about the edges, unfocused like a badly taken snapshot. There’s a flash of teeth, muffled laughter, and then the boy is moving, walking away, legs propelling him forward effortlessly, ever forward, so fast Eeteuk has to run to catch up.
Wait, he pants, breathless, wait, please-
The boy turns at the touch of Eeteuk’s hand on his shoulder, and then Eeteuk is shaking his head and backing away, back and back and back. There’s blood over half his face, cruel gashes in his cheeks, a split in his scalp, and the eyes are cold, cold, dead-
Hyung, and the voice is the same, the same, only pleading, this time, plaintive, strangled with pain, hyung, save me, help me, hyung, it hurts-
No, Eeteuk moans, no, no, no, as if he can make it all better just by repeating it enough, as if he can will this horror away, hands coming up in a warding gesture, fingers grasping involuntarily for his dongsaeng’s shirt, because it’s his job to help, it’s his duty to save-
His hands are stained now, the liquid dark, dark, tacky. Eeteuk wipes them on his shirt with a shudder; swipes at the cut in the boy’s lip. You’ll be fine, he says, voice barely wavering, fine, just fine-
Hyung, he says, soft, soft, soft, his eyes closing, and then he’s falling, away and away and away, and Eeteuk lunges after him; watches as he slips through his clumsy fingers, thin, insubstantial as smoke, as fleeting as the last shreds of dreams upon waking.
Kyuhyun, on his lips, when his eyes snap open. There’s a name now, a face, dampness on his cheeks, a strange hollow in his chest. Kyuhyun, he says when the door opens to admit Siwon, and he watches as Siwon’s face changes, watches as his eyes widen before his expression softens, and it’s almost unbearable, the pity in the younger boy’s face, the heaviness in the set of his shoulders. Kyuhyun, Eeteuk says, over and over, oh god, Kyuhyun; lets Siwon hold him as he shakes.
---
Nothing left but numbers now, on creased pieces of paper, in framed photographs, to show they were ever more than twelve. Eeteuk recites names slowly, lips forming the words carefully, each one a silent exhalation of breath; counts with his fingers.
The headstone is small, clean, simple, the epitaph short and succinct. Thirteen, he finishes as he stoops, as he places the flowers gently on the ground, fingertips tracing the inscription.
Thirteen, he repeats more firmly as he straightens and stands; meets their eyes. I carry him, his raised hand says, palm flat against his chest, here-
Thirteen, Ryeowook echoes, eyes wet, and they all take his lead as Eeteuk is drawn back into the group. Thirteen, Shindong says, uncharacteristically sober. Thirteen, from Heechul. Thirteen, one after the other, spiraling up and out and into the empty spaces between them.
Eeteuk thinks of strength in numbers, of being filled up, of coming full circle. If there was a hole before, a gaping chasm, there isn’t one now, their hands clasped, arms about each other’s waists, heads together. Eeteuk counts again, with his fingers; imagines he can see just one more, blurred about the edges at the corners of his vision; imagines he could reach out to touch, if he really wanted to.
Thirteen.