[FIC] You Can't Choose What Stays and What Fades Away (10/15)
title: you can't choose what stays and what fades away (10/15)
pairing: kangin/eeteuk (side donghae/eunhyuk)
rating: R
warnings: dark themes
summary: how far would you go to find the truth?
notes: yes, there are 15 chapters, just like the first fic. and yes, i did plan it this way. :P please leave comments - i'll love you forever! :) ♥
disclaimer: i do not own the members of super junior. let's face it. they really own me. >D
Do you know what it’s like to know you’re missing something and not find it? It’s like an itch, one you can’t scratch and keeps building, building, building until you’re nearly mad with frustration and you want to lay down and cry, cry, cry.
That’s how Jungsu feels right now.
Except Jungsu is crying in broken glass and wisps of cotton, and for him - for someone who feels as intensely as a former angel does - it’s like someone has ripped a piece of him away. In the back of his mind, he recollects a similar time, a time when Youngwoon had left and he’d thought he’d never get him back.
It’s like that, he tells himself as he sobs, it’s like my heart’s breaking all over again.
Hiccuping, he can hear Donghae leave the room, most likely to get more tissues (and a clean pillowcase). He looks up from the pillow, feeling the wet stains on his chin. His vision’s a bit blurry, and his head is pounding, but he can still see the window.
And…
Jungsu sits up. He knows it’s impossible, it is, but he can feel…something. He can’t quite describe it, but it’s like a pull, a tug, a call all in one.
Someone’s calling him.
And he listens.
***
“Come on, come on,” Youngwoon pleads under his breath. His eyes are squinched closed, hands gripping the edge of the window as he prays.
Hyukjae walks in on this from his room…and stops.
“Oh…my… Youngwoon, are you praying?!”
“WHAT?!” There’s a soft thud (a dropped tissue box), and Donghae rushes in to stand next to Hyukjae. He gapes at the sight. “Youngwoon, you’ve never prayed. Are you okay?”
Youngwoon opens his eyes, inhaling deeply to try and calm his temper. “You’re distracting me. I need to focus.”
“Are you meditating?”
Another deep breath. “No.”
“Sleeping?”
“No, Hyuk.”
“Is it gas? Do you have to fart?”
“YAH, YOU!!” Youngwoon roars and whips around with fists clenched and eyes blazing. “I was praying, you idiot!! And that requires focus, which I can only do if it’s quiet!!”
“…You sure it wasn’t gas?”
“Hyuk, stop,” Donghae says quickly, seeing that Youngwoon is looking for something to throw (and not a pillow). “Look, Youngwoon… Why were you praying?”
Youngwoon’s still angry, but his face appears calmer when he looks at his roommate. “Because Jungsu needs it.”
“Then shouldn’t Jungsu be doing it?”
Youngwoon shakes his head. “Because it has to come from me. Because it’s something I can do for him, at least.”
“You’re here for him, that’s all he needs and wants from you.”
“But it’s not enough, can’t you see that?!” Youngwoon sighs and glances at the wall separating him from his room, from Jungsu. “He’s in so much pain, it hurts just to look at him, it hurts to see him crying so hard and not be able to make it stop.” He blinks furiously, trying to stop the tears that are welling up from falling. “I love him, and it hurts me to see him in pain like this.”
“Oh, Youngwoon…” Donghae feels for his friend, and he wipes at his own eyes quickly. “So that’s why you were praying - for Jungsu to find peace.”
“Yes…and no.”
Hyukjae steps forward now. “What do you mean?
“I mean, I want Jungsu to find peace, but that wasn’t specifically what I was praying for.”
“Then what were you praying for?”
“Me.”
Every head turns to the far side of the room. He’s standing there in white jeans and a white sleeveless shirt that flows nicely down to his thighs. The collar of this top is high, like a turtleneck, but it’s also loose. His wine-colored hair spikes just a bit up, giving him the illusion that he has a mohawk or he’s a cockatoo. His arms are crossed across his chest, showing silver bands on his wrists, but he doesn’t look upset or irritated. He’s just waiting, patient.
“He prayed for me,” the young man says in rich auburn.
Youngwoon nods his head in greeting. “Hello, Kikwang.”
***
Primal.
Perhaps that’s the best way to describe what he feels. It’s like instinct but not quite that deeply ingrained. It’s a gut feeling, instinct, superstition, and belief all rolled into one. Regardless of what it is per se, it’s primal.
Primal is dark - it’s a dark word, if you really think about it. It brings up the images of cavemen grunting and caves and rocks and everything so primitive it’s hard to believe the human race can become so grand and significant in the world.
But nevertheless, primal is dark.
Which is why, perhaps, deep in the eyes of someone hearing the call, the blackness uncurls and begins to waken.
***
“So can you help?”
Youngwoon is still standing, but Kikwang is sitting on the couch. Donghae is sitting next to him, and Hyukjae is in the armchair. All have told a piece of the story, all with some insight into Jungsu and his reaction to his memories. (Only Donghae hasn’t mentioned the girl or the moving shadows. And Younwoon hasn’t voiced his suspicions, his worries, yet.)
Kikwang bites his lip. “I don’t understand how I can help. This is complicated.”
“Well, can you find out his sister’s name maybe?” Hyukjae asks. “That’ll help, I’m sure.”
The angel frowns. “But it doesn’t make sense. If memories of his former life are going back into him, the name should be in there.”
“But it’s not. It’s freaking him out,” Donghae adds. He waits a beat before asking, “Do you think Zhou Mi could help?”
Kikwang’s nose wrinkles, and when he speaks it’s in hardening ice. “Zhou Mi’s intelligent but only from what he reads. If you’ve met with him once, then he’s told you all he knows and nothing more.”
Hyukjae raises an eyebrow. “I take it you don’t like Zhou Mi.”
Kikwang shifts. “You might say that.”
“Can I ask why?”
“He’s an ass. A pompous ass.” It’s desert air now, his voice, so Hyukjae wisely drops the subject.
“Do you know anything about this…process?” Youngwoon asks.
Kikwang turns to him, and as he looks over the young man his face softens but remains serious. “I wish I did, but no. This process is rare, at least that’s what I’ve heard. I’ve only been an angel for eight human years.”
“Really?”
He nods. “Eeteuk - I mean, Jungsu - hadn’t been an angel for long either. He was new, too. Maybe a year or two older than me.”
“Jungsu was an angel for only ten years?” Youngwoon clarifies. “Is that why his wings are tattered?”
“Why his what?” Kikwang is sitting straight up now, eyes confused and his voice electricity. “What are you talking about?”
Youngwoon explains, “I noticed it last night, right before the recent…” He trails off, unsure of how to describe it, but he continues. “Anyways, when I looked at his wings on his back, the tattoo version, the edges looked…” His hands clutch at air as he searches for the right words. “Tattered.”
“Tattered?”
“Like the edges had been ripped away.”
Now Kikwang’s eyes are sharp. “That’s not possible. Are you sure you’re not mistaken?”
Youngwoon frowns, hands on his hips, stance poised and leaning forward. “I’m not. Why isn’t it possible?”
“Tattered wings, the ripped effect you saw - that only appears on angels who have fallen.”
“Well, he already has fallen,” Donghae points out. “He fell eighteen months ago. And Zhou Mi said he’d get some of his angel talents back anyways during the memory-reabsorbing.”
But Kikwang is shaking his head. “Not that kind of fallen.”
“Then what kind do you mean?” And the moment the words leave his mouth, Youngwoon wants to take them back, but no, he needs to know, needs to know for Jungsu. This feeling only intensifies when Kikwang speaks in a hollow tone:
“Think deeper. Much deeper.”
***
Kyuhyun stiffens and stops walking. It’s a slight shift, but yes - he can sense it. He looks up at the sky. It’s darker still, and he hope he’s imagining the distant rumble of thunder.
“Why is one of them down here?” he asks in whispered water.
He looks around, spies an apartment building on his right. It overlooks the park, not too tall but not short either. There’s a window on the fifth floor, and it’s open.
And somehow, he can tell that’s where he needs to go.
But as he starts walking towards his destination, he takes his eyes off of the open window, so he misses it. He misses the figure climb onto the sill and leap to the ground, and while any normal person would have broken their neck this figure almost seems to glide down and land delicately on two pale bare feet.
And the figure, dressed in blue plaid pajama pants and a white tee, begins walking down the sidewalk, following something only he can hear.
***
“Come on,” he calls out, opening the door to his sister’s room. She’s on her bed, lying on her stomach as she reads a book.
“I don’t wanna,” she says plainly. Her face is serious, or as serious as a nine-year-old face can get.
“It’s dinner. And it’s your favorite.” He smiles, but she doesn’t respond. “Don’t make me tickle you into defeat.”
Her lips twitch, and he can tell she’s trying not to smile. But then the door slams downstairs, hard enough for the framed family picture on the wall to shake, and the hint is gone.
“Please,” he asks, and it’s soft and shaky, too. But, he believes, if he’s honest with her, she’ll be honest with him.
“He’s mad, isn’t he,” she states. Not a question. A statement.
Jungsu chews on his lower lip, an old habit that won’t die. He can still feel the sting on his cheeks (it’s still a bit red if he looks in a mirror). But he can’t go down alone.
So he holds out his hand, waits for her to walk over and take it, and then leads them down the hall. He sneaks a quick look at his sister’s window.
It’s pouring.
***
The little girl is sitting on the sidewalk. She is curled into a ball, hands clutched over her ears. Her eyes are squinched shut. Her mouth is moving, forming words only she can hear:
“He’s mad… He’s mad… He’s mad…”
Around her, it is eerily quiet. Nothing moves.
Except the shadows.
But they’re only moving because they’re restless.
Because they’re waiting…
tbc...
pairing: kangin/eeteuk (side donghae/eunhyuk)
rating: R
warnings: dark themes
summary: how far would you go to find the truth?
notes: yes, there are 15 chapters, just like the first fic. and yes, i did plan it this way. :P please leave comments - i'll love you forever! :) ♥
disclaimer: i do not own the members of super junior. let's face it. they really own me. >D
Do you know what it’s like to know you’re missing something and not find it? It’s like an itch, one you can’t scratch and keeps building, building, building until you’re nearly mad with frustration and you want to lay down and cry, cry, cry.
That’s how Jungsu feels right now.
Except Jungsu is crying in broken glass and wisps of cotton, and for him - for someone who feels as intensely as a former angel does - it’s like someone has ripped a piece of him away. In the back of his mind, he recollects a similar time, a time when Youngwoon had left and he’d thought he’d never get him back.
It’s like that, he tells himself as he sobs, it’s like my heart’s breaking all over again.
Hiccuping, he can hear Donghae leave the room, most likely to get more tissues (and a clean pillowcase). He looks up from the pillow, feeling the wet stains on his chin. His vision’s a bit blurry, and his head is pounding, but he can still see the window.
And…
Jungsu sits up. He knows it’s impossible, it is, but he can feel…something. He can’t quite describe it, but it’s like a pull, a tug, a call all in one.
Someone’s calling him.
And he listens.
***
“Come on, come on,” Youngwoon pleads under his breath. His eyes are squinched closed, hands gripping the edge of the window as he prays.
Hyukjae walks in on this from his room…and stops.
“Oh…my… Youngwoon, are you praying?!”
“WHAT?!” There’s a soft thud (a dropped tissue box), and Donghae rushes in to stand next to Hyukjae. He gapes at the sight. “Youngwoon, you’ve never prayed. Are you okay?”
Youngwoon opens his eyes, inhaling deeply to try and calm his temper. “You’re distracting me. I need to focus.”
“Are you meditating?”
Another deep breath. “No.”
“Sleeping?”
“No, Hyuk.”
“Is it gas? Do you have to fart?”
“YAH, YOU!!” Youngwoon roars and whips around with fists clenched and eyes blazing. “I was praying, you idiot!! And that requires focus, which I can only do if it’s quiet!!”
“…You sure it wasn’t gas?”
“Hyuk, stop,” Donghae says quickly, seeing that Youngwoon is looking for something to throw (and not a pillow). “Look, Youngwoon… Why were you praying?”
Youngwoon’s still angry, but his face appears calmer when he looks at his roommate. “Because Jungsu needs it.”
“Then shouldn’t Jungsu be doing it?”
Youngwoon shakes his head. “Because it has to come from me. Because it’s something I can do for him, at least.”
“You’re here for him, that’s all he needs and wants from you.”
“But it’s not enough, can’t you see that?!” Youngwoon sighs and glances at the wall separating him from his room, from Jungsu. “He’s in so much pain, it hurts just to look at him, it hurts to see him crying so hard and not be able to make it stop.” He blinks furiously, trying to stop the tears that are welling up from falling. “I love him, and it hurts me to see him in pain like this.”
“Oh, Youngwoon…” Donghae feels for his friend, and he wipes at his own eyes quickly. “So that’s why you were praying - for Jungsu to find peace.”
“Yes…and no.”
Hyukjae steps forward now. “What do you mean?
“I mean, I want Jungsu to find peace, but that wasn’t specifically what I was praying for.”
“Then what were you praying for?”
“Me.”
Every head turns to the far side of the room. He’s standing there in white jeans and a white sleeveless shirt that flows nicely down to his thighs. The collar of this top is high, like a turtleneck, but it’s also loose. His wine-colored hair spikes just a bit up, giving him the illusion that he has a mohawk or he’s a cockatoo. His arms are crossed across his chest, showing silver bands on his wrists, but he doesn’t look upset or irritated. He’s just waiting, patient.
“He prayed for me,” the young man says in rich auburn.
Youngwoon nods his head in greeting. “Hello, Kikwang.”
***
Primal.
Perhaps that’s the best way to describe what he feels. It’s like instinct but not quite that deeply ingrained. It’s a gut feeling, instinct, superstition, and belief all rolled into one. Regardless of what it is per se, it’s primal.
Primal is dark - it’s a dark word, if you really think about it. It brings up the images of cavemen grunting and caves and rocks and everything so primitive it’s hard to believe the human race can become so grand and significant in the world.
But nevertheless, primal is dark.
Which is why, perhaps, deep in the eyes of someone hearing the call, the blackness uncurls and begins to waken.
***
“So can you help?”
Youngwoon is still standing, but Kikwang is sitting on the couch. Donghae is sitting next to him, and Hyukjae is in the armchair. All have told a piece of the story, all with some insight into Jungsu and his reaction to his memories. (Only Donghae hasn’t mentioned the girl or the moving shadows. And Younwoon hasn’t voiced his suspicions, his worries, yet.)
Kikwang bites his lip. “I don’t understand how I can help. This is complicated.”
“Well, can you find out his sister’s name maybe?” Hyukjae asks. “That’ll help, I’m sure.”
The angel frowns. “But it doesn’t make sense. If memories of his former life are going back into him, the name should be in there.”
“But it’s not. It’s freaking him out,” Donghae adds. He waits a beat before asking, “Do you think Zhou Mi could help?”
Kikwang’s nose wrinkles, and when he speaks it’s in hardening ice. “Zhou Mi’s intelligent but only from what he reads. If you’ve met with him once, then he’s told you all he knows and nothing more.”
Hyukjae raises an eyebrow. “I take it you don’t like Zhou Mi.”
Kikwang shifts. “You might say that.”
“Can I ask why?”
“He’s an ass. A pompous ass.” It’s desert air now, his voice, so Hyukjae wisely drops the subject.
“Do you know anything about this…process?” Youngwoon asks.
Kikwang turns to him, and as he looks over the young man his face softens but remains serious. “I wish I did, but no. This process is rare, at least that’s what I’ve heard. I’ve only been an angel for eight human years.”
“Really?”
He nods. “Eeteuk - I mean, Jungsu - hadn’t been an angel for long either. He was new, too. Maybe a year or two older than me.”
“Jungsu was an angel for only ten years?” Youngwoon clarifies. “Is that why his wings are tattered?”
“Why his what?” Kikwang is sitting straight up now, eyes confused and his voice electricity. “What are you talking about?”
Youngwoon explains, “I noticed it last night, right before the recent…” He trails off, unsure of how to describe it, but he continues. “Anyways, when I looked at his wings on his back, the tattoo version, the edges looked…” His hands clutch at air as he searches for the right words. “Tattered.”
“Tattered?”
“Like the edges had been ripped away.”
Now Kikwang’s eyes are sharp. “That’s not possible. Are you sure you’re not mistaken?”
Youngwoon frowns, hands on his hips, stance poised and leaning forward. “I’m not. Why isn’t it possible?”
“Tattered wings, the ripped effect you saw - that only appears on angels who have fallen.”
“Well, he already has fallen,” Donghae points out. “He fell eighteen months ago. And Zhou Mi said he’d get some of his angel talents back anyways during the memory-reabsorbing.”
But Kikwang is shaking his head. “Not that kind of fallen.”
“Then what kind do you mean?” And the moment the words leave his mouth, Youngwoon wants to take them back, but no, he needs to know, needs to know for Jungsu. This feeling only intensifies when Kikwang speaks in a hollow tone:
“Think deeper. Much deeper.”
***
Kyuhyun stiffens and stops walking. It’s a slight shift, but yes - he can sense it. He looks up at the sky. It’s darker still, and he hope he’s imagining the distant rumble of thunder.
“Why is one of them down here?” he asks in whispered water.
He looks around, spies an apartment building on his right. It overlooks the park, not too tall but not short either. There’s a window on the fifth floor, and it’s open.
And somehow, he can tell that’s where he needs to go.
But as he starts walking towards his destination, he takes his eyes off of the open window, so he misses it. He misses the figure climb onto the sill and leap to the ground, and while any normal person would have broken their neck this figure almost seems to glide down and land delicately on two pale bare feet.
And the figure, dressed in blue plaid pajama pants and a white tee, begins walking down the sidewalk, following something only he can hear.
***
“Come on,” he calls out, opening the door to his sister’s room. She’s on her bed, lying on her stomach as she reads a book.
“I don’t wanna,” she says plainly. Her face is serious, or as serious as a nine-year-old face can get.
“It’s dinner. And it’s your favorite.” He smiles, but she doesn’t respond. “Don’t make me tickle you into defeat.”
Her lips twitch, and he can tell she’s trying not to smile. But then the door slams downstairs, hard enough for the framed family picture on the wall to shake, and the hint is gone.
“Please,” he asks, and it’s soft and shaky, too. But, he believes, if he’s honest with her, she’ll be honest with him.
“He’s mad, isn’t he,” she states. Not a question. A statement.
Jungsu chews on his lower lip, an old habit that won’t die. He can still feel the sting on his cheeks (it’s still a bit red if he looks in a mirror). But he can’t go down alone.
So he holds out his hand, waits for her to walk over and take it, and then leads them down the hall. He sneaks a quick look at his sister’s window.
It’s pouring.
***
The little girl is sitting on the sidewalk. She is curled into a ball, hands clutched over her ears. Her eyes are squinched shut. Her mouth is moving, forming words only she can hear:
“He’s mad… He’s mad… He’s mad…”
Around her, it is eerily quiet. Nothing moves.
Except the shadows.
But they’re only moving because they’re restless.
Because they’re waiting…
tbc...